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B    3    3E5    132 


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CASTE: 


STORY   OF   REPUBLICAN   EQUALITY. 


SYDNEY   A.  STORY.  Jr. 


BOSTON: 

PHILLIPS,    SAMPSOX,    AND     COMPANY. 
NEW  YORK:    J.  C.  DERBY. 

18  5  6. 


^ 


'^f.  f^ 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  Year  1S55,  hy 

Phillips,  Sampson,  and  Company, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


STEREOTTPED  AT  THE 
BOSTON     STEREOTYPE     FOUNDHT. 


CASTE. 


CHAPTER    F I n  S  T  , 


'Miiden  with  tlie  dark-blue  eyes, 
In  whose  orbs  a  shadow  lies. 
Like  the  night  of  summer  skies. 

'  Standing,  with  rcluctiint  feet, 
Where  tlie  brook  and  river  meet, 
Womanhood  and  childhood  fleet.' 


The  cold  wind  of  early  jiarch  was  sweeping  ragged 
clouds  across  the  sky ;  but  the  cheerless  aspect  of  the 
evening  was  little  heeded  by  the  guests  Avho  thronged 
Mr.  Conant's  brilliantly  lighted  mansion,  to  witness  the 
marriage  of  his  daughter  Julie,  a  young  and  beautiful 
girl,  the  pet  and  pride  of  the  village. 

In  the  seclusion  of  her  own  chamber  the  bride  was. 
receiving  from  her  attendant  bridemaids  the  finishing 
touches  which  made  her  toilet  complete.  Having  care- 
fully adjusted  the  folds  of  the  bridal  veil,  one  of  them 
stepped  back,  and,  surveying  her  work  with  admiration, 
said  gayly, — 


ivig04171 


O  CASTE 

"  There,  now,  Julie,  you  look  like  a  little  beauty, 
and  I  shall  expect  special  thanks  for  my  artistic  skill. 
Isn't  she  perfect,  Mrs.  Conant?"  she  added,  address- 
ing that  lady,  who  was  placing  a  delicate  spray  of  myrtle 
flowers  among  her  daughter's  silken  curls. 

The  mother's  eyes  grew  dim  with  a  sudden  gush  of 
feeling,  and  before  she  could  command  herself  to  answer, 
the  door  opened  and  two  ladies  entered. 

"  Helen  insisted  I  should  come  and  see  Julie,  before 
she  went  down  to  be  admired  and  kissed  by  every  body ; 
and  so  I  am  here,"  said  one  of  them,  glancing  towards 
her  companion,  a  tall,  queenly-looking  girl,  who  added, 
"  Yes,  indeed,  I  told  Mrs.  Avenel  she  could  not  half 
appreciate  you  in  the  bustle  and  crowd  down  stairs,  and 
as  I  wanted  one  more  look  for  myself,  I  brought  her 
with  me." 

"We  are  very  glad  to  see  Mrs.  Avenel,"  replied  Julie 
and  her  mother,  speaking  together ;  and  then,  after  the 
criticisms  on  her  dress  were  finished,  the  former  added 
with  a  sort  of  timid  earnestness  that  suited  her  soft, 
childlike  voice,  "  Is  there  really  such  a  crowd  down 
stairs  ?     O,  dear,  what  shall  I  do  !  " 

"  Submit  to  your  fate,  my  dear  ;  which  is,  to  be  the 
bright  particular  star  of  this  evening,"  said  Helen  Du- 
pre,  laughing.  "  It  is  said  not  to  be  so  very  disagreeable 
to  be  admired,  when  one  gets  used  to  it ;  so  summon 
your    philosophy,    and     don't   faint    or    shed    any    tears. 


THEPKEPAKATION.  9 

Nobody  must  cry  this  evening,  for  there  is  no  need  of  it 
here,  and  I  dislike  to  see  teaxs  at  a  wedding." 

"  And  having  come  so  far  to  attend  this  one,  you  mean 
to  have  things  all  your  own  way,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Avenel. 

"  I  don't  know  but  I  shall  disobey  you,"  said  Mrs.  Co- 
nant  with  a  smile,  and  a  voice  slightly  tremulous,  "  for  I 
feel  already  somewhat  in  '  the  melting  mood.'  Are  not 
mothers  always  privileged  characters  on  these  occasions  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  so  ;  but  really  I  think  you  have  no  occasion 
now  for  weeping,"  said  Helen.  "  Is  not  Julie  as  happy 
as  she  can  be  r  And  besides  you  are  about  to  gain  a  son, 
instead  of  losing  a  daughter.  Think  what  it  would  be  if 
she  was  going  away." 

At  this  moment  there  was  a  rap  at  the  door,  and  when 
Helen  Dupre  had  opened  it,  her  brother  entered.  He 
Avas  a  dark,  handsome  man ;  and  when  she  saw  him,  the 
little  bride  sprang  to  her  feet,  with  a  smile  and  a  blush 
vivid  enough  to  tell  in  what  relation  he  stood  to  her.  He 
looked  at  her  a  moment  in  silence,  with  an  expression  of 
overflowing  tenderness  and  delight ;  and  then  assuming 
a  gay  tone  to  hide  his  deeper  feelings,  he  asked,  as  he 
came  towards  her,  — 

"  Are  the  arrangements  completed,  at  last  ?  Is  the 
bride  presentable  ?  Our  rosebud  looks  as  if  she  wai? 
wrapped  in  a  snow  wreath,  with  all  this  cloud  of  white 
about  her." 

"  Don't  you  like  it  ?  Don't  you  think  it  pretty  ?  "  ex- 
claimed several  voices  in  a  breath. 


10 


*'  Like  it:  of  course  I  do,""  he  answered.  "And  this 
ample  veil  can  be  made  available,  too.  Draw  it  around 
you,  Julie ;  it  is  large  enough,  to  hide  you  and  your 
blushes,  through  the  whole  evening." 

As  he  spoke,  he  seized  it  playfully,  and  would  have 
drawn  it  over  her  face  ;  but  Julie  was  no  longer  blushing 
or  smiling,  and  at  that  moment  something  in  her  face  ar- 
rested his  hand,  even  before  his  sister  sprang  forward  to 
seize  it,  and  prevent  the  disarrangement  he  would  have 
carelessly  effected. 

"  What  is  it,  my  pet  ?  *'  he  said  in  a  low  tone,  as  he 
noticed  the  sudden  paleness,  and  the  large  drops  that 
trembled  on  her  lashes,  as  her  eyes  v/ere  still  fixed  on  his 
face.  "  What  is  it,  Julie  ?  Did  I  hurt  ymi  ?  You  must 
not  be  sad  to-night,  my  little  beauty." 

"  O,  no,  Charles,"  she  answered,  in  a  tone  which  called 
forth  a  smile  and  a  tear  from  almost  every  one  of  the 
group  around  ;  "  you  did  not  hurt  me  —  it  is  not  that. 
But  I  am  so  very,  very  happy.  It  almost  frightens  me  to 
think  how  happy  I  am." 

Charles  seized  her  hands,  and  pressed  them  to  his  lips, 
as  he  bent  down  and  Avliispered  something  in  her  ear ; 
and  just  then  a  noisy  summons  came  to  them  from  Mas- 
ter Ned  Conant,  the  only  sou  of  the  family,  who,  gliding 
through  the  half  open  door,  exclaimed,  — 

"  Why  don"t  you  come  dov\'n  stairs  ?  Every  body  is 
waiting,  and  the  minister  is  here.  Julie,  you  look  first 
rate.    \Vhat"s  the  matter?     Yoa  needn't  be  so  fni>hlened. 


THE     WEDDING.  11 

You'll  only  have  to  stand  up  five  minutes,  and  Mr.  Blank 
will  marry  you  just  as  easy  !  " 

The  comical  drawl  with  which  the  last  word  was  spoken 
seemed  very  persuasive ;  for  with  an  instant  change  of 
mood,  the  whole  party  moved  to  the  anteroom,  where  the 
groomsmen  waited,  and  after  a  few  moments'  conversa- 
tion, arranged  themselves  for  the  walk  to  the  drawing 
rooms.  As  the  escort  passed  down  stairs,  Ned,  who 
lingered  beside  Charles  and  Julie,  whispered  encour- 
agingly, — 

"  Don't  tremble  so,  little  sis  ;  you'll  find  you're  mar- 
ried before  you  know  it.  Charles,  couldn't  you  whistle 
'  Old  Hundred,'  or  some  other  lively  tune,  to  keep  up  her 
spirits  till  it  is  (Wer  ?  " 


e 


"  What !  really  packing  your  trunks  ?  I  half  hoped 
they  would  persuade  you  to  remain  longer,"  said  Mrs. 
Avenel,  as  she  opened  the  door  of  her  friend's  chamber,  a 
few  days  after  the  wedding,  and  saw  the  array  of  dresses 
and  boxes  that  gave  token  of  departure. 

"No,"  replied  Helen  Dupre,  looking  up  from  her  la- 
bor with  a  glowing  face,  "  necessity  admits  of  no  persua- 
sion, and  having  accomplished  my  mission  here,  and 
helped  transform  my  little  Julie  into  the  prettiest  bride  in 
the  country,  to-morroAv  I  depart  for  the  pleasant  south 
land, 

■  Where  skies  are  bright,  and  flowers  .iro  fair." " 


12  CASTE. 

Her  voice  was  full  and  clear  as  a  nightingale's,  and  the 
warbled  strain  with,  which  her  Avoids  ended  seemed  to 
gush  forth  as  naturally  as  song  from  a  bird. 

"  You  are  enthusiastic,"  replied  Mrs.  Avenel,  smiling, 
as  she  threw  off  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  and  began  folding 
some  of  the  articles  that  were  spread  on  the  sofa  near  — 
'■  very  enthusiastic  you  are,  Miss  Helen.  Even  for  the  sake 
of  hearing  you  sing  it,  I  wouldn't  have  you  add  the  next 
line  of  the  song, — 


k 


'  For  0,  I  pine,  I  perish  here.'  " 

"  Indeed,  I  hope  not,"  added  a  gentle  voice  by  her 
side,  "  for  by  and  by,  when  we  go  to  housekeeping,  I 
shall  insist  on  having  Helen  come  and  li-s*  -with  us." 

"  Hear  the  child^  cried  Helen,  laughing  ;  "  it  has  been 
wo  days  married,  and  it  gives  itself  airs  already,  and 
talks  of  the  dignity  of  a  householder." 

"  Hear  the  old  maid,"  retorted  Julie,  half  pettishly ; 
"  she  pretends  to  be  so  much  in  love  ■ndth  school  keeping 
that  she  won't  promise  to  leave  it,  even  to  please  her 
brother,  who  loves  her  so  well." 

"Or  little  Julie,  whom  she  loves  so  well,"  replied' 
Helen,  throwing  her  arms  around  the  slight,  girlish  figui-e 
of  her  young  sister-in-law,  and  half  smothering  her  with 
kLsses.  Julie  extricated  herself,  blushing  and  laughing, 
and  with  her  golden  curls  all  disheA'elled ;  and  then, 
turning   appealingly   to   Mrs.  Avenel,  she   said,  "  Isn't 


THE    SCHOOL :mistkess.  13 

she  obstinate  ?  She  will  go,  in  spite  of  all  our  persua- 
sions, and  she  know!?  we  had  so  much  rather  have  her  at 
home." 

"  Dont  appeal  to  her,  for  she  knows  my  decision  is 
right,"'  said  Helen  cheerfully,  but  firmly.  "  You  and 
Charles  must  be  satisfied  with  each  other  for  a  while  at 
least,  and  leave  the  schoolniistress  to  return  to  her  voca- 
tion. It  is  a  pleasant  vocation,  though  you  do  not  think 
so,  little  Julie,  and  I  am  far  happier  there  than  if  I  Avcre 
spending  my  time  in  idle  dependence  on  my  brother.'' 

"But  why  not  pursue  your  vocation  nearer  home,"  said 
Mrs.  Avenel,  "  since  your  friends  desire  it  so  much  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  I  may,  at  some  future  time,  but  now  I  have 
really  no  desii'&>for  change.  It  is  pleasant  to  be  here,  but 
my  brother  needs  me  less  than  ever,  now  he  has  a  wife, 
and  I  have  been  so  long  with  Mrs.  Warner  that  my  home 
there  has  grown  dear  to  me,  and  little  Emma  ^\"arner  is 
the  loveliest  child  you  ever  savr." 

"  She  was  named  for  Mr.  Avenel's  mother,'"  said  Mrs. 
Avenel.  "  She  and  Mrs.  Vrarncr  have  alwavs  been  very 
intimate  friends."' 

"Yes,"  replied  Helen,  "and  I  think  the  child  is  like 
her  namesake.     What  a  gentle,  lovely  woman  she  is  I  " 

"  She  is,  indeed,  and  the  last  time  she  visited  us,  she 
seemed  more  cheerful  than  I  liad  seen  her  before  for  many 
years.  Xov/  she  has  recovered  from  the  first  shock  of 
her  huRbaud"s  stBtden  death,  she  is  recovering  also  from 


14 


the  petrifying  influence  he  used  to  exert  over  her.  You 
did  not  know  him  ?  "  * 

"  I  only  saw  him  once,  two  years  ago,  when  I  first  went 
to  Mrs.  Warner's  —  he  came  there  with  his  wife  to  dine 
one  day.  But  they  say  Mrs.  Colonel  Bell  is  just  like  him, 
and  she  is  a  perfect  incarnation  of  pride  and  selfishness." 

"  She  is  still  very  beautiful,  I  suppose  ?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Avenel,  musingly,  while  the  shade  of  sad  or  disagreeable 
recollections  passed  over  her  face. 

"  Beautiful !  yes,  but  so  haughty  and  cold.  I  shall 
never  forget  how  astonished  she  was,  to  find  that  Mrs. 
Warner  intended  to  regard  the  governess  of  her  grand- 
children as  an  equal  and  a  friend.  She  is  obliged  to  treat 
me  civilly  when  we  happen  to  meet  at  her  mother's,  — 
•where  I  go  very  often  with  Mrs.  Warner,  —  but  she  takes 
good  care  to  let  me  see  that  she  is  condescending  to  do 
so,  and  I  take  equal  pains  to  make  her  understand  that  I 
consider  myself  fully  her  equal,  in  every  respect.  You 
smile,  Mrs.  Avenel,  but  this  is  not  pride  in  7)ie  ;  it  is  only 
a  commendable  self-respect." 

"  There  is  a  difference,  I  admit,'"  replied  her  friend. 

"  Nobody  would  venture  to  affirm  that  Helen  was 
proud,"  said  Julie,  with  an  arch  glance  from  her  blue 
eyes  ;  "  no,  she  is  neither  proud  nor  obstinate,  in  adher- 
ing to  her  decision  to  leave  us." 

"True,  O  most  wise  Julie,"  answered  Helen.  "Call 
it  firmness  and  independence  of  chara^er,  and  you  will 


SHE     REMAINS     OBSTINATE.  15 

get  tlie  right  words  in  which  to  describe  this  marvellous 
decision.  Listen,  little  sister,  and  urge  me  no  more,"  she 
added,  smoothing  the  soft  curls  that  were  nestling  by  her 
side.  "  Charles  is  younger  than  I,  and  ha\ing  been  but 
a  year  in  business,  before  he  was  foolish  enough  to  marry, 
—  for  which,  to  be  sure,  I  don't  blame  him,  since  he  had 
so  strong  temptation,  —  I  want  him  to  get  more  firmlv  es- 
tablished, and  what  we  Yankees  call  '  ahead  in  the  world,' 
before  he  has  any  beside  his  A^dfe  to  support.  By  and  by, 
when  the  children  come,  and  these  two  little  hands  find 
themselves  faUing  to  supply  the  demand  for  care  and  com- 
fort, it  will  be  time  for  me  to  return,  for  then  I  can  really 
be  of  use." 

"  Nonsense,"  replied  the  young  wife,  blushing  violently; 
"  as  if  I  wanted  you  for  the  work  you'd  do  !  I  tell  you  it 
is  only  for  ornament  we  want  you ;  nobody  thought  of 
your  being  of  any  use." 

"  Thank  you  ;  then  I  won't  come,"  said  Helen,  Avith  a 
smile  of  fond  admiration,  as  she  met  the  miscliievous  look 
that  accompanied  these  words. 

"  But  then,"  continued  Julie,  "  it  is  likely  youll  be 
married  to  some  one  of  your  rich  southern  admirers." 

"  Nonsense,"  cried  Helen  ;  "  rich  southern  gentlemen 
don't  bestow  much  admiration  on  Yankee  schoolmaams. 
It  is  only  in  story  books  you  find  such  a  consimimation  to 
their  toils." 

•'  O,  but  you  are  no  common  schoolmistress,"  persisted 


16  C  A  S  l  E  . 

Jnlie.  "  You,  so  beaiitii'ul,  so  accomplished  —  you'll  find 
yovir  leait  ideal  one  of  tliese  days,  fastidious  as  you  are. 
Or,  perhaps,  some  of  my  romantic  visions  will  be  fulfilled, 
and  you'll  find  your  unknown  relations.  Don't  look  sober 
now,  and  shake  your  head  at  me,  for  this  hope  is  the  only 
thing  that  really  reconciles  me  to  your  sojourn  in  that  far- 
ofi"  land." 

"  Dream  no  dreams,  little  sister,"  said  Plelcn,  her  gay- 
ety  of  tone  and  manner  vanishing  as  she  spoke  ;  and  just 
then  some  one  calling  Julie,  she  hastened  away,  with  the 
qiack- springing  step  of  a  child. 

Helen  looked  after  her,  thoughtfully,  for  a  moment, 
and  then,  leaving  the  trunk  she  had  been  filling,  she  sat 
down  in  the  window  recess  beside  her  friend,  and  said 
sadly,  "  I  wish  Julie  wouldn't  talk  so  much  upon  that 
subject.  She  is  a  thoughtless  little  creature,  and  does 
not  seem  to  imagine  that,  if  the  mystery  which  excites 
her  romantic  brain  were  solved,  the  knowledge  we  should 
acquu'e  might  be  more  painful  than  ignorance." 

"  Have  you  then  no  curiosity  to  penetrate  the  secret  of 
your  birth  and  parentage  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Avenel. 

'■'  Very  little,"  replied  Helen,  "  and  that  little  accompa- 
nied by  a  painful,  shrinking  dread,  which  I  wonder  at, 
though  I  cannot  conquer.  Charles  does  not  feel  so,  it 
may  be  because  ho  has  none  of  the  vague  recollections 
which  haunt  me." 

"  Have    you,   then,  any  remembrance    of  your    child- 


EARLY     RECOLLECTIOXS.  17 

hood,"  asked  Mrs.  Avenel,  witli  great  interest.  "  I  have 
often  wished  to  ask  you,  but  you  rather  avoided  the  sub- 
ject." 

"  I  confess  I  don't  like  to  talk  about  it,"'  replied  Helen, 
"  and  yet  I  can  hai-dly  tell  why.  I  have  indistinct  memo- 
ries of  living  in  some  tropical  climate,  in  rooms  gorgeously 
fiu-nished,  and  of  two  persons  whom  I  used  to  call  papa 
and  mamma ;  but  there  must  have  been  some  trouble  or 
sorrow  in  that  home,  wherever  it  was,  for  I  have  impres- 
sions of  dread  and  fear  connected  with  it.  The  first  thing 
I  remember  distinctly,  is  living  with  my  little  brother  in 
a  small  cottage,  under  the  care  of  an  old  black  woman. 
Then  we  must  have  travelled  for  some  distance  by  water, 
for  I  have  confused  images  of  vessels  and  the  ocean ;  and 

then  we  were  left  at  our  home  in  C ,  in  Mr.  Evans> 

family." 

"  Did  the  person  who  brought  you  give  any  accouu 
of  himself  to  you,  or  leave  any  clew  by  which  he  could 
be  traced : " 

"  None,''  replied  Helen.  ''  He  said  he  wished  to  place 
us  at  that  school,  and  paid  a  year's  tuition  in  advance. 
This  of  course  excited  no  particular  inquiry ;  and  Mr. 
Evans  told  me,  he  did  not  notice  until  after  the  stranger 
had  left,  that  he  gave  no  address  and  expressed  no  \vish 
to  hear  of  our  progress.  Supposing,  however,  that  a  let- 
ter would  soon  arrive  and  remedy  this  oversight,  he  felt 
no  uneasiness ;  but  month  after  month  rolled  away,  and 
2  * 


18  CASTE. 

nothing  was  heard  from  the  stranger,  until  the  year  had 
passed,  and  then  came  a  remittance  sufficient  to  cover  ex- 
penses for  another  year.  And  so  it  went  on  vmtil  it  came 
to  be  a  matter  of  course,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Evans  began 
to  look  upon  us  as  their  own  children,  and  to  care  for  the 
forsaken  orphans  with  a  tender  kindness  -v-Nhich  we  can 
never  repay." 

"  And  since  you  were  eighteen  you  have  heard  nothing 
from  your  unknown  friend,  I  think  you  told  me,"  said 
Mrs.  Avenel. 

"  Nothing  since  then.  At  that  time,  instead  of  the 
usual  remittance,  there  came  three  thousand  dollars,  and 
a  few  lines,  saying  no  further  aid  could  be  expected.  As 
Charles  was  two  years  younger  than  myself,  I  persuaded 
Mr.  Evans  to  reserve  the  most  of  this  sum  for  his  benefit, 
—  to  educate  and  set  him  up  in  business,  —  and  my  share 
he  is  to  repay  Avhen  he  gets  rich,"  she  added  with  a  faint 
smile.  "  Part  of  the  money  Mr.  Evans  spent  in  travel- 
ling and  making  such  inquiries  as  he  thought  advisable  ; 
but  they  elicited  nothing.  We  had  no  clew  to  guide  us, 
for  the  money  had  been  sent,  sometimes  from  one  city 
and  sometimes  from  another,  though  always  from  the 
south.  I  wanted  him  to  go,  and  he  went  at  my  sugges- 
tion ;  but  I  was  almost  glad  when  he  came  back  as  igno- 
rant as  he  went." 

"  What  is  it  that  you  dread  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Avenel,  after 
a  short  pause. 


APPREHEXSIOXS.  19 

Helen's  eyes  fell  beneath  the  kind  but  curious  gaze  of 
her  friend,  and  she  blushed  violently  as  she  replied,  — 

"  I  am  almost  sure  that  my  parents  did  not  live  happily 
together,  and  sometimes  I  fear  there  was  sin  as  well  as 
unhappiness." 

''  Dear  Helen,  don't  distress  yourself  Avith  such  ideas," 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Avenel,  repenting  the  ciuiosity  that  had 
elicited  this  unexpected  reply.  "  Whatever  may  have 
been  your  parentage,  you  have  won  our  love  and  esteem  ; 
and  your  purity  and  nobleness  of  character  contradict  the 
supposition  of  the  evil  you  dread.  Rely  upon  yourself 
and  your  friends,  and  don't  let  your  feelings  become  mor- 
bid, and  imbitter  the  happiness  life  might  otherwise 
bring  you." 

"  I  do  try  to  prevent  it,"  said  Helen,  making  an  effort 
to  speak  cheerfully ;  "  and  since  I  always  grow  sad  in 
dwelling  on  the  past,  you  see  I  am  wise  in  seldom  refer- 
ring to  it.  Let  us  talk  of  something  else,  now  —  Julie 
and  Charles,  who  are  such  an  innocent-hearted  pair  of 
lovers,  that  to  be  with  them  gives  one  a  gHmpse  of  the 
lost  joys  of  paradise  —  or  your  husband  and  children,  and 
your  own  happy  home." 

"  Here  comes  my  husband  now,"  said  Mrs.  Avenel, 
laughing,  "  and  so  I  have  no  time  to  stay  and  talk  of  any 
body  else  ;  for  he  will  call  for  me,  and  both  he  and  his 
horse  have  their  full  share  of  the  masculine  impatience 
that  never  likes  to  wait." 


20  C  A  S  X  E  . 

"  And,  after  twelve  years  of  matrimony,  you  indulge 
your  husband  in  that  same  lordly  impatience  !  Quelle 
folie  !  " 

"  Twelve  years  !  My  dear,  what  difference  does  time 
make  ! "  cried  Mrs.  Avenel,  as  she  hastily  donned  her 
shawl  and  bonnet,  and  ran  down  stairs  to  meet  her  hus- 
band. 

"  What  difference,  indeed  !  "  thought  Helen,  as,  having 
bade  them  good  by,  she  stood  looking  after  them  as  they 
drove  away. 

"  '  Timo  but  impression  deeper  makes, 
As  streams  their  channels  deeper  wear,' 

and  has  no  power  to  "cloy  the  happiness  of  that  true 
marriage."  "With  a  sigh,  almost  of  envy,  Helen  turned 
away  to  finish  her  preparations  for  departure.  Full  as 
she  was  of  hope  and  courage,  her  own  life  seemed  for  a 
moment  too  barren,  too  incomplete,  in  contrast  with  the 
rich  fullness  of  blessing  that  cro-\vned  her  friend. 

The  conversation  which  we  have  related  has  disclosed 
much  of  the  life  of  Helen  and  Charles  Dupre,  and  little 
more  remains  to  be  told.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Evans,  who  had 
been  the  guardians  of  their  desolate  childhood,  were 
teachers  of  a  family  school  in  one  of  the  towns  of  central 
New  York.  Here  they  had  remained  until  the  time  re- 
ferred to  by  Helen,  when,  in  her  eighteenth  year,  they 
received  intimation  that  the  supplies  which  had  hitherto 
supported  them  would  cease. 


SELF-DEPENDEXCE.  2tc 

She  Avas  tlien  well  educated,  and  accomplislied  far  be- 
yond the  usual  school-girl  standard,  and  being  naturally- 
endowed  with  strength  and  energy  of  character,  she  deter- 
mined that  the  money  which  accompanied  this  uatimation 
should  be  kept  as  a  reserved  fund,  and  from  that  day  she 
had  labored  for  her  own  support.  At  first  she  assisted 
Mr.  Evans  in  his  school,  and  then  taught  in  other  schools 
in  the  vicinity,  gradually  attaining  more  and  more  experi- 
ence and  reputation,  iintU  she  was  invited  to  take  care  of 

the  female  academy  in  the  town  of .     Mr.  Avenel's 

two  eldest  children  were  among  her  first  pupils,  and  as 
Mrs.  Avenel  always  endeavored  to  be  well  acquainted 
with  the  person  Avho  was  to  have  a  teacher's  influence 
over  the  young  minds  committed  to  her  guidance,  she 
soon  found  in  Helen  a  congenial  friend,  for  whose  welfare 
her  generous  nature  exerted  itself  in  every  possible 
manner. 

Charles  Dupre  had  decided  to  be  a  merchant,  and  it 
was  Mr.  Avenel's  influence  that  procured  him  a  situation 
in  the  flourishing  establishment  of  his  friend  Mr.  Conant, 
who  gave  him  a  home  in  his  family,  and  afterwards,  when 
the  young  clerk  had  proved  himself  reliable,  permitted 
him  to  woo  and  win  the  little  Julie  Conant  to  be  his  wife. 

Two  years  before  the  time  our  story  opens,  the  widow 
Avenel  had  written  from  South  Carolina  to  her  son  in  be- 
half of  her  neighbor  and  friend  Mrs.  Warner,  who  was 
in  great  want  of  a  governess  for  two  grandchildren  left 
in  her  care. 


22  CASTE. 

Moreover,  Mrs.  Warner  wanted  a  companion  and  friend 
to  aid  in  beguiling  her  lonely  hours  ;  and  if  a  combination 
of  these  desirable  qualities  could  be  found,  no  sum  of 
mone)-  Avould  be  considered  too  great  to  repay  such 
services. 

Mrs.  Avencl  loiew  comparatively  little  of  Mrs.  Warner  ; 
but  she  remembered  her  as  amiable  and  kind  hearted, 
and  she  was  the  bosom  friend  of  her  gentle  mother-in- 
law,  and  so  she  did  not  hesitate  to  urge  Helen  Dupre  to 
accept  the  invitation. 

Helen  was  fond  of  excitement  and  variety,  and  the  in- 
vitation came  nt  a  time  when  Mrs.  Evans's  death  and 
Mr.  Evans's  failing  health  had  induced  the  latter  to  break 
vip  his  school  and  go  to  spend  his  declining  years  with  his 
sons,  who  Avere  married  and  settled  in  JSTew  York  city. 
Her  old  home  thus  destroyed,  she  had  less  reason  to 
regret  the  change  of  locality,  and  had  spent  two  very 
happy  years  at  the  south ;  and  now,  after  assisting  at  her 
brother's  wedding,  she  was  about  to  return  thither. 

Mr.  Avenel  was  one  of  those  noble  sons  of  the  south, 
who,  in  the  face  of  a  host  of  prejudices,  and  contending 
against  innumerable  difhciilties,  have  been  true  to  the 
convictions  of  duty  with  regard  to  the  unfortunate  beings 
wliich  the  laws  gave  them  the  power  to  deprive  of  the 
rights  of  freemen. 

In  executing  his  philanthropic  designs,  Edgar  Avenel 
was  much  assisted  by  his  generous  and  high-hearted  wife, 


THE      COST     OF      BOIXf;      RI  G  H  T  .  23 

wlio  shrank  from  no  sacrifice,  and  cheerfully  endured  the 
privations  attending  their  altered  circumstances,  when  for 
a  few  years  he  was  obliged  to  depend  upon  his  own  exer- 
tions for  the  support  of  his  family.  The  slaves  to  whom 
he  had  given  liberty  constituted  nearly  all  his  available 
wealth.  He  had  inherited  them  from  his  mother,  who 
died  when  he  was  very  young,  and  his  father  was  so  much 
incensed  at  what  he  was  pleased  to  consider  Edgar's 
childish  and  unpardonable  obstinacy,  that  he  sternly  for- 
bade him  ever  again  to  enter  his  doors,  and  destroying  in 
his  presence  a  will  formerly  made,  informed  him  that 
henceforth  his  sister  Clara,  the  child  of  a  second  maiiiase, 
iihould  be  sole  heiress  of  the  family  estates. 

This  sister,  a  haughty  and  selfish  girl,  had  no  sympathy 
v.'ith  his  feelings,  and  little  pity  for  his  trials,  which  she 
decme'd  a  legitimate  punishment  for  the  visionary  folly  to 
which  he  had  }ielded  himself ;  and  the  disinherited  man 
wovild  have  left  his  father's  house  hopeless  of  an}*  future 
reconcilia^tion,  had  it  not  been  for  the  kindness  of  his 
step-mother,  who,  though  she  doubted  the  expediency  of 
his  conduct,  had  the  warmest  admiration  for  its  self- 
sacrificing  heroism.  Mrs.  Avenel  Avas  a  silent  and  timid 
v.-oman,  and  had  little  courage  to  oppose  the  fixed  preju- 
dices v\-mch  her  husband  expressed  so  loudlv  and  bit- 
terly ;  but  she  hoped  to  influence  him  through  her 
da\ighter,  whose  natiu-e  was  more  congenial  vvith  his  own, 
and  whose  lightest  wish  he  had  from  infancy  indidged 
wilho.-vt   rostvaiut. 


24  CASTE. 

This  hope  was  vain.  Clara  was  secretly  too  well  pleased 
with  the  additional  wealth  and  importance  thus  acquired 
to  plead  very  earnestly  for  her  brother,  and  unmoved  by 
her  mother's  anxiety  for  Edgar,  but  jealous  of  the  affec- 
tion it  evinced,  she  covertly  widened,  instead  of  lessening, 
the  breach  which  had  so  entirely  divided  the  family. 
Thus  years  passed  on,  and  at  length  Mr.  Avenel  died  sud- 
denly, a  few  months  after  he  had  given  his  daughter  in 
marriage  to  a  millionnau-e ;  and  though  in  life's  last  hour 
there  was  a  natural  relenting  of  heart  towards  his  only 
son,  it  came  too  late  to  allow  of  any  change  in  the  dispo- 
sition of  his  property,  the  greater  part  of  which  had  been 
devised  to  Clara,  and  her  mother  in  vain  besought  her  to 
allow  the  will  to  be  set  aside. 

But  Edgar  Avenel  had  removed  to  a  large  and  flourish- 
ing town  in  the  interior  of  New  York,  drawn  thither  by 
the  persuasions  of  a  friend  of  his  college  days,  and  in- 
duced to  remain  by  the  natural  beauty  of  its  location,  and 
the  facilities  it  afforded  for  business.  Establishing  him- 
self as  a  lawyer,  he  speedily  acquired  reputation  and  in- 
fluence, and  at  length,  by  a  series  of  fortunate  investments, 
he  Avas  placed  in  such  a  position,  that  this  final  disappoint- 
ment of  his  faintly-cherished  expectations  was  not  so  hard 
to  bear  as  it  would  once  have  been.  His  father  had  lived 
to  know  that  by  his  personal  abilities  and  exertions  he 
had  acquired  Avealth,  and  his  children  were  not  beggarly 
dependants  on  his  sister's  bounty,  as   she  had  sneeriugly 


THE     BKOTHER    AND     SISTER.  2ii 

prophesied  -wlien  they  parted  ;  and  ^^•llcn  he  was  told  that 
his  father  had  forgiven  and  blessed  him  before  he  died,  he 
felt  an  honest  pride  in  assuring  Clara  that  he  needed  and 
asked  for  nothing  more. 

But  the  mother  was  pained  and  mortified  at  the  dispo- 
sition which  her  child  had  manifested.  Her  generous 
nature  was  unable  to  comprehend  the  heartless  selfishness 
that  induced  Clara  to  take  possession  of  estates  which 
should  have  been  her  brother's,  and  her  remonstrances 
were  so  earnest  that  she  was  never  fully  forgiven  for  them, 
but  from  that  time  forward  was  treated  with  reserve  and 
coldness  by  the  child  on  whom  she  had  la-^ished  only 
too  much  affection. 

Helen  had  nearly  finished  her  preparation,  and  w^as 
strapping  her  trunks,  when  the  door  opened  again,  and 
Charles  Dupre  entered,  with  his  wife  clinging  to  his  arm. 
Between  the  brother  and  sister  there  was  a  striking  like- 
ness, and  as  she  rose  to  meet  him,  they  might  have  been 
taken  for  models  of  masculine  and  feminine  beauty. 
There  was  the  same  erect,  graceful  figure,  rather  taller  in 
each  than  the  medium  size  of  the  sex,  the  same  clear, 
dark  complexion,  and  large,  soft,  black  eyes.  Only  the 
masses  of  raven  hair  waved  above  Helen's  broad,  low  brow, 
and  over  her  delicate  little  ears,  falling  in  a  few  loose 
ringlets  from  the  gathered  braids  behind  ;  while  Charles's 
classic  head  was  crowned  with  a  profusion  of  short,  silky 
3 


26  CASTE. 

curls ;  and  the  lines  of  tlie  mouth  and  chin  which,  on  her 
face,  Avere  firm  and  finely  cut,  on  his  were  more  full  and 
rounding,  betokening  a  more  facile  disposition,  and  a  spirit 
less  easily  moved  to  anger. 

There  could  not  have  been  found  a  greater  contrast  to 
these  two,  than  the  young  creature  who  stood  looking  up 
in  their  faces  by  the  flickering  firelight.  She  had  hardly 
numbered  eighteen  years,  and  she  looked  even  younger, 
for  her  figure  was  small  and  delicate,  her  complexion  pure 
as  a  lily,  and  her  golden  curls,  soft  and  fine  as  floss  silk, 
fell  over  mild  blue  eyes,  that  hid  beneath  their  lashes  if 
one  sought  to  gaze  into  them ;  and  her  face  was  so  innocent 
and  childlike  in  its  expression,  that  while  looking  at  her, 
one  experienced  an  involuntary  desire  that  a  being  so  pure 
and  so  helpless  should  never  be  called  to  encounter  the 
storms  of  life.  Little  besides  sunshine  had  she  knoA\Ti 
through  the  summer  hoUday  of  her  existence.  Every- 
body called  her  "  little  Julie,"  every  body  petted  and 
loved  her,  and  to  all  her  family  it  would  have  seemed  a 
strange  and  inconginious  thing  to  have  seen  tears  in  her 
gentle,  smiling  eyes,  or  sadness  on  her  brow. 


CHAPTER    SECOND 


'Iler  eye's  dark  charm  'twere  rain  to  tell; 
But  gaze  on  that  of  a  gazelle, 
It  will  assist  thy  fancy  well ; 
As  large,  as  languishingly  dark, 
The  soul  beamed  forth  from  every  spark 
That  darted  from  beneath  the  hd. 

On  her  fair  cheek's  unfading  hue, 

Tlie  young  pomegranate's  blossoms  strew 

Their  bloom  in  blushes  ever  new." 


The  next  morning,  Helen  left  her  brother's  home. 
The  gentleman  in  whose  care  she  travelled,  accompanied 
her  as  far  as  Wilmington,  and  from  there  she  was  to  go 
on  alone.  But  in  these  days,  travelliag  has  been  reduced 
to  a  system,  and  to  the  initiated,  even  though  she  be  a 
solitary  female,  there  is  little  cause  found  for  annoyance 
or  fear,  save  in  those  "unavoidable"  accidents  which 
often  preclude  the  necessity  of  any  further  journeying  in 
this  world. 

Therefore  it  was  with  a  quiet  heart  that  Plelen  bade 
farewell  to  her  fellow-traveller,  Avhose  business  called  him 
to  another  part  of  the  state,  and  having  secured  the  good 
graces  of  the  immense  specimen  of  colored  humanity  Avho 
presided  over  the   ladies'  cabin,  and  made  arrangements 


28  CASTE. 

for  the  time  when  old  ocean  should  assert  its  prerogative 
to  torment  the  body  and  try  the  soul,  she  took  a  book, 
and  ascended  to  the  outer  air.  It  was  a  sunny  morning, 
and  the  dark  forests  which  fringe  the  low  shores  of  the 
river  had  just  been  making  their  annual  abortive  effort  to 
clothe  themselves  with  a  brighter  shade  of  green,  in  honor 
of  the  advancing  summer. 

As  the  rheumatic  old  boat  creaked  and  trembled  on  its 
way,  Helen  watched  the  smoke  of  the  turpentine  facto- 
ries lowering  along  the  horizon,  the  fish  leaping  here  and 
there  above  the  surface  of  the  river,  as  if  anxious  to  es- 
cape from  its  muddy  depths,  the  skeletons  of  dead  trees, 
that  rose  in  ghastly  whiteness  over  the  reedy  shoals,  and 
wearying  at  length  of  the  monotony,  which  even  the  clear 
air  and  the  glowing  sunlight  could  not  enliven,  she  estab- 
lished herself  in  a  shady  corner,  and  dropping  her  veil, 
gave  herself  up  to  the  charm  of  the  romance  she  was 
reading. 

As  she  changed  her  seat,  a  gentleman  who  had  been 
leaning  dreamily  over  the  railing  at  this  side  of  the  deck 
turned  to  see  who  approached,  and  catching  a  glimpse  of 
her  face  before  the  thick  veil  had  hid  it,  started  suddenly, 
and  half  changing  his  position,  fixed  his  eyes  on  her  with 
a  prolonged  gaze  that  scrutinized  every  article  of  her 
dress,  from  the  crown  of  her  bonnet  to  the  sole  of  her 
shoe. 

With  a  half  sigh,  as  if  some  sad  memory  had  risen 


-^■-VITIO.V     OX     OXE     SIBE     OXXT.       31 

before  Hni,  he  recollected  u^^. 

back  to  bis  Hstless  watcbing  of  tbe'f  ^"^  '^''V^-^ss  her  sur- 
again  and  again  bis  furtive   glance  sougbl  .         suddenly 
figiu'e,  and  every  moment  be  seemed  to   grow  mor^"^^  ^^'^ 
plexed  and  uneasy.     He  -was   a  tall,  well-fonned  maifj^ 
witb  an  ordinary-looking,  but  not  unintelligent  face,  and 
tbere  was  about  bis  dress  an  air  of  carelessness  tbat  made 
bim  look  almost  untidy,  tbougb  tbe  materials  were  unex- 
ceptionable and  scrupulously  neat.     One  would  have  said 
he  Avas  a  bachelor,  of  middle  age,  who  had  ceased  to  care 
for  appearances,  and  was  content  if  comfortable. 

Attentively  as  he  had  watched  her,  Helen  had  been 
unaware  of  his  notice,  and  quietly  continued  her  reading, 
until  tbe  shrill  whistle  of  the  boat  gave  token  of  its  ap- 
proach to  Oldtown.  Then  raising  her  veil,  she  was  about 
to  watch  tbe  passengers  hurrying  ashore,  when  her  atten- 
tion was  arrested  by  a  faint  exclamation  near  her.  She 
looked  around,  and  for  the  first  time  met  his  l4|)k,  so  ear- 
nest and  piercing  now  as  almost  to  startle  her. 

For  one  moment  he  stood  like  one  lost  in  painful 
amaze,  and  then  raising  bis  bands  slowly,  he  exclaimed 
aloud,  "  My  God  !  it  is  herself — her  very  self!" 

These  words,  wlucli  were  uttered  in  a  voice  of  sharp 
distress,  completed  Helen's  terror,  and  caused  several  of 
tbe  passengers  who  were  promenading  tbe  deck  to  pause 
and  look  on  witb  extreme  curiosity ;  and  one  of  the  gen- 
tlemen, whose  venerable  years  and  kindness  of  expres- 
3^ 


'-^ 


28  C  A  p  -^  -"'  seeing  Helen's  confusion, 

vjrfered  her  his  arm,  saying, 

for  the  time  wh'-  alarmed.  Do  you  know  this  gentleman, 
to  torme-^  you  speak  to  him,  or  would  you  like  to  retii-e  to 
^^/^ur  state  room  ?  " 

She   took  his  arm,  but  did  not  reply,  or  move  to  go 
towards  the  cabin.     She  was  fascinated  by  the  wild,  dark, 
glittering  eyes,  which  were  still  riveted  on  her  face,  with 
a  magnetism   that   agitated   her,  she   scarce    knew'why 
Thus  they  stood,  until   the    stranger,  arousing  from  his 
trance  of  emotion,  noticed  the  curious  eyes    bent   upon 
him  by  those  around,  and  with  a  powerful  effort  at  self- 
control,  which  could  not  entirely  quell  his  perturbation, 
he  said,  confusedly,  "Pardon  me -I  know  I  am  rude, 
but  this  lady  looks  so  much  like  one  I  knew  and  lost' 
Who  is  she  ?     What  is  her  name  .^     Do  you  know,  sir  ^^  " 
he  asked,  laying  his  hand  eagerly  on  the  arm  of  hlr  self- 
constituted|protector. 

He  turned  to  her  an  inquiring  glance,  and  she  whis- 
pered, "  Miss  Dupre."     He  repeated  it  to  the  stranger. 

A  peculiar  expression,  almost  like  a  convulsion,  passed 
over  his  face  as  he  heard  it. 

"  Helen  Dupre  }  "  he  asked  in  smothered  tones. 
She  nodded  affirmatively. 

"  And  you  are  going  to  the  south  to  reside  ?  "  he  con- 
tinued, in  a  tone  that  was  more  an  exclamation  than  a 
question. 


RECOGXITIOX     OX     OXE     SIDE     OXLY.       31 

Again  she  nodded,  and  was  about  to  express  her  sur- 
prise at  being  known  to  him,  when  he  turned  suddenly 
away,  and  shut  himself  up  in  his  state  room,  which  was 
one  of  the  range  that  opened  on  the  deck  where  they 
were  standing. 

His  abrupt  departure  astonished  them  even  more  than 
his  previous  manner.  AVeak  and  tremblmg,  Helen  re- 
leased the  arm  to  which  she  had  clung,  and  dropped  into 
her  chau-.  The  stranger's  kind  face  expressed  only  sur- 
prise, but  she  was  beginning  to  feel  very  much  annoyed 
at  being  thus  forced  into  public  notice. 

"  It  is  very  unpleasant ! "'  she  said.  "  What  can  the 
man  mean  ?  " 

"  It  is  very  strange,"  replied  her  fiiend.  "•  Have  you 
ever  met  him  before  ?  " 

"  Never,  that  I  remember;  and  yet,"  she  added,  struck 
by  a  sudden  recollection,  "  he  knew  my  name,  and  so  he 
must  have  seen  me  before.     Do  you  know  him  ?  " 

"  I  do  not.  I  would  make  inquiries,  but  I  must  hurry 
on  shore,  for  I  leave  the  boat  here.  I  hope  you  will  have 
no  further  trouble  ;  but  if  you  do  you  had  better  speak 
to  the  captain,  who  will  protect  you.  The  man  may  be 
crazy." 

So  saying,  he  bade  her  a  courteous  farewell,  and  with 
regret  she  saw  him  go  away.  She  pondered  in  amaze- 
ment on  this  strange  incident  during  the  rest  of  the 
morning  ;  but  her  mysterious  interlocutor  did  not  again 


32  CASTE 


appear,  and  she  had  somewhat  recovered  from  her  excite- 
ment when  the  whistle  again  sounded,  and  the  boat  drew 
up  to  the  solitary  wharf  of  the  quiet  little  village  of  Smith- 
town. 

They  were  at  the  mouth  of  the  river,  and  sweeping  far 
away  to  the  horizon  the  ocean  lay  before  them  ;  but  their 
further  progress  was  stayed.  They  must  wait  for  that 
which  waits  for  no  man ;  for  the  tide  was  out,  and  the 
sand  bar  could  not  be  crossed.  There  was  the  usual 
amount  of  impatience  and  scolding  among  the  passengers, 
and  then  they  scattered  Hther  and  thither,  in  groups, 
sauntering  along  the  shore  or  through  the  sandy  street, 
where  barren  desolation  was  relieved  by  a  few  noble  live 
oaks  —  the  only  things  in  the  town  which  seemed  alive. 

Helen  stood  looking  out  over  the  scene,  when  a  hand 
was  laid  lightly  on  her  arm,  and  a  voice  spoke  her  name. 
Even  before  she  tui-ned  to  see  who  was  beside  her  she 
recognized  that  voice,  and  her  heart  sent  the  warm  blood 
with  a   telltale    quicloiess    to   her  cheek,  and   her  eyes 
sparkled  with  a  joy  that  contradicted  the  quiet  coldness 
of  her  manner,  as,  after  the  first  involuntary  start  of  sur- 
prise, she  said,  "  Ah,  Mr.  Hubert  —  this  is  unexpected  ! " 
An  expression  of  disappointment  clouded  his  brow  at 
this  reception  ;  but  when  he  had  cast  one  quick,  searching 
glance  into  her  face,  it  passed  away,  and  he  answered,  — 
"  Entirely  unexpected  to  me,  I  assure  you.     It  was  by 
the  merest  chance  that  I  hurried  all  day  yesterday  to  get 


A     D  U  E  L.  33 

through,  with  the  business  which  brought  nie  here,  so  that 
I  might  take  the  boat  to-day ;  for  I  hadn't  the  slightest 
idea  you  were  any  where  in  this  region." 

His  manner  was  such '  an  exaggerated  imitation  of 
hers,  that  Helen  could  hardly  help  laughing  ;  and  in  her 
confusion  she  asked  him  what  Avas  the  business  which 
brought  him  so  far  from  home. 

"  I  hardly  like  to  confess  it,  but  I  came  here  to  fight  a 
duel,"  he  rej^lied,  gravely. 

"  To  fight  a  duel !  "  exclaimed  Helen,  incredulously. 

"  Yes.  The  worst  enemy  I  ever  had  has  been  annoy- 
ing me  past  all  endurance,  lately  ;  and  after  having  sev- 
eral encounters,  in  which  I  was  always  worsted,  we  ap- 
pointed a  meeting  beyond  the  bounds  of  the  state.  He 
avoided  me  for  a  Avhile,  when  he  saw  me  so  determined 
on  vengeance  ;  but  yesterday  we  met  on  board  the  United 
States  cutter,  in  which  one  of  my  friends  persuaded  me  to 
accompany  him  from  Wilmington  to  this  place,  and  after 
we  arrived  here  we  had  a  meeting,  which  was  fatal  to 
him." 

"  What  are  you  telling  me  ?  Can  this  be  true  ?  "  said 
Helen. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  it  is  but  sober  truth,"  replied  he. 
"  I  have  suffered  much  on  account  of  it,  but  it  is  over 
now." 

"  And  you  have  killed  him  ?  " 

"  I  have  killed  him  !  " 


34  CASTE. 

Helen  looked  at  him  with  surprise  and  distress,  uncer- 
tain of  the  truth  of  this  narration,  and  yet  half  convinced 
by  his  manner. 

At  length  she  asked,  "  Did  you  meet  him  alone  ?  Were 
there  no  witnesses  ?  " 

"  We  had  our  seconds,  of  course.  Every  thing  was 
conducted  in  the  most  honorable  manner.  His  friend's 
name  was  Light  —  a  Mr.  Light,  commonly  called  Sun 
Light,  who  enabled  my  opponent  to  hold  his  own  for 
many  hours  against  me.     My  friend  was  a  Mr.  Hope." 

"  O  Hubert,"  exclaimed  Helen,  "  you  are  quizzing 
me.     Who  was  your  opponent  ?  " 

"  It  was  a  French  gentleman  —  M.  Le  Temps,"  replied 
Hubert,  the  gravity  he  had  hitherto  maintained  giving 
way  to  a  most  comical  expression.  "  I  have  met  him  be- 
fore, but  he  never  proved  himself  such  an  intolerable  bore 

as  dm-ing  the  last  six ,  six  what  ?     Is  it  months  or 

years  that  you  have  been  gone  ?  " 

The  rich  bloom  of  Helen's  cheek  deepened,  but  it  was 
impossible  to  resume  the  reserve  and  coldness  out  of 
wliich  she  had  been  so  skilfully  drawn ;  and  after  a  mo- 
ment's cflbrt  she  yielded,  and  joined  in  the  hearty  laugh 
wliich  her  com^janion  could  no  longer  restrain. 

"  Come,  now,"  he  continued,  "  you  are  glad  to  see  me ; 
you  know  you  are ;  and  I  have  come  some  distance  to  see 
you  ;  so  why  can't  wc  enjoy  the  joleasure  of  our  meeting, 
a    little  while,  without  taking  thought    for    the    future  ? 


K  E  S  K  K  V  K     iM  E  L  X  I  N  G  .  35 

Friends  shouldn't  quarrel  the  first  thing,  who  have  been 
separated  six  months." 

"  Six  weeks,  you  mean,"  said  Helen. 

"  It  don't  make  much  difference  what  one  calls  it,"  re- 
plied he.  "  I  am  prepared  to  believe  in  any  unlimited 
quantity  of  time  having  elapsed  since  I  saw  you  last ;  and 
the  moment  I  heard  that  your  friend  was  to  leave  you  at 
Wilmington,  I  started  to  meet  you  there,  for  I  don't  think 
it  is  proper  for  ladies  to  travel  alone." 

"  How  did  you  discover  so  much  about  my  plans  ? "  she 
asked. 

"  How  ?  Don't  you  believe  in  magnetism  ?  Don't  you 
believe  in  clairvoyance  ?  Don't  you  believe  in  spiritual 
communion,  or  in  little  birds  that  fly  through  the  air  to 
tell  secrets  r " 

"  No,  I  haven't  a  jjarticle  of  faith  in  either,"  said 
Helen,  laughing  and  shaking  her  head,  incredulously. 

"Well,  then,  don't  j'ou  beMeve  in  little  children  — 
dear,  innocent,  artless  little  angels  that  they  are  —  who 
are  always  playing  about,  with  such  apparent  unconscious- 
ness, wliile  their  elders  read  letters  and  make  remarks, 
and  yet  retain  a  perfect  recollection  of  all  that  is  said, 
and  are  so  easily  induced  to  impart  their  knowledge  when 
sagaciously  tempted  by  one  who  knows  them } " 

He  laughed  as  he  said  this  ;  but  Helen  looked  grave, 
and  after  a  pause  said,  with  some  embarrassment  of 
manner,  — 


36  CASTE. 

"  I  have  not  yet  inquired  for  your  motlier  and  the 
family.     Are  they  well  ?  " 

"  All  well  —  elders  and  youngsters,  white  and  black  ; 
and  sent  all  sorts  of  messages  and  greetings,  which  you 
will  please  take  for  granted,  since  I  have  forgotten  every 
one  of  them." 

"  Then  they  knew  of  your  coming,"  said  Helen,  her 
face  brightening. 

"  Yes,  and  approved  of  it  entirely  —  which  I  presume 
you  wanted  to  be  satisfied  of,"'  he  added,  Avith  another  of 
Ms  penetrating  glances,  that  always  diAined  her  thoughts 
in  a  moment.  "  Come  on,"  he  continued  ;  "  let's  sit  doAvn 
here  and  have  a  chat,  A\hile  the  boat  is  waiting.  Tell  mo 
what  you  were  thinking  about,  that  you  looked  so  very, 
very  grave  just  before  I  spoke  to  you.  If  I  had  not 
watched  you  for  a  moment  then,  and  seen  how  your  face 
changed  when  you  heard  my  voice,  I  should  have  been 
entirely  disconcerted  by  the  manner  you  saw  fit  to  assume 
in  greeting  an  old  friend." 

The  gentle  roproachfulness  of  these  last  words  thiilled 
through  Helen's  soul,  with  a  power  which,  in  spite  of  her 
self-control,  for  the  moment  utterly  confused  her  ;  and 
glad  of  any  escape  from  her  embarrassment,  she  eagerly 
seized  upon  his  first  suggestion  for  relief.  Leaning  over 
the  railing  of  the  boat,  as  they  seated  themselves,  she 
pointed  out  over  the  waste  of  sand  bins,  which  lay  sjjrcud 
between  them  and  the  ocean. 


T  W  O     Y  I  E"\V  S     0  F     T  ir  E     S  E  A  .  37 

"I  was  thinking,"  she  said,  "how  well  this  place  has 
been  named  '  Cape  Fear  ; '  for  a  more  desolate  and  terrible 
looking  place  can  hardly  be  imagined.  See  how  the  ocean 
vexes  itself  into  madness  against  the  further  boundary, 
and  how  the  crawling,  cruel,  hungry-looking  waves  are 
gliding  swiftly  through  all  the  shallows,  and  gnashing 
their  Avhite  teeth  at  us  from  behind  the  sandy  barriers." 

"  I  see,"  said  her  companion  ;  "  but  to  me  the  waves 
seem  only  bent  on  a  hurrjdng,  scrambling  frolic,  to  prove 
which  shall  first  cover  this  level  waste.  This  fresh 
breeze  which  caps  them  with  foam,  and  the  bright  sun- 
shine that  glitters  over  them,  exhilarate  and  enliven  me  : 
why  do  they  bring  to  you  only  images  of  terror  ?  I  think 
it  is  grand,  glorious." 

"  I  think  it  is  horrible !  "  returned  Helen,  with  a  shud- 
der. "  I  have  no  sympathy  with  the  ocean,  and  the  very 
sight  of  it  depresses  me.  Its  mysterious  depths,  filled 
with  slimy,  shapeless  creatures,  the  hoarse,  distressful 
voices  that  murmur  in  its  undertone,  the  resistless  force 
with  which  it  lifts  itself  up  against  whatever  opposes  it, 
fill  me  with  an  unspeakable  dread.  If  I  were  a  heathen, 
I  should  worship  it  with  awful  sacrifices,  as  the  personifi- 
cation of  remorseless,  relentless  Fate." 

"  "What  a  mood   you  are  in !  "  exclaimed  her  friend. 
"  Xo  wonder  you  looked  grave,  if  you  were  brooding  over 
such  fancies.     Something  must  have  happened  to  annoy 
you.     "What  is  it  r  " 
4 


38  CASTE. 

"  Something  did  annoy  me,"  replied  Helen,  "  but  that 
had  nothing  to  do  with  what  you  call  my  fancies.  They 
always  arise  at  the  sight  of 

'  Old  ocean's  gray  and  melauclioly  waste.' 

Of  all  the  poetry  which  has  been  written,  that  line  seems 
to  me  most  truly  descriptive  of  its  object,  and  others  must 
have  the  same  opinion,  for  many  images  of  overwhelming 
sorrow  and  destruction  are  connected  with  the  sweep  of 
the  billows." 

"  The  real  cold  salt  water  is  something  to  be  afraid  of, 
I  grant  you,"  said  Hubert,  "  and  woe  betide  the  unlucky 
sailor  caught  on  these  shoals  in  a  storm  ;  but  as  to  these 
imaginary  seas,  I  believe  people  are  seldom  drowned  in 
them.     The  conceit  is  often  more  than  the  reality." 

"  Yes,"  said  Helen  thoughtfully,  "  I  know  it  is  often 
so.  We  see  the  waves  plunging  onward,  rising  and  swell- 
ing with  a  force  that  threatens  destruction  when  they 
shall  reach  us,  and  yet  when  they  are  past  we  find  our- 
selves riding  triumphantly  upon  the  surface,  or  at  worst 
only  partially  submerged." 

"  In  other  words,"  said  Hubert,  with  a  mischievous 
siTule,  "  if  I  may  place  common  parlance  beside  your  met- 
aphorical language,  people  don't  often  die  of  grief  unless 
some  other  disease  sets  in.  Am  I  rude  to  say  this,  after 
your  pretty  bit  of  poetic  imagery  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Helen,  laughing  and  blushing,  "  it  does 
Pegasus   good   to   be  compelled   sometimes   to   trot  with 


THE     STRANOEK     DISCOVERED.  39 

common  ponies ;  and  since  you  are  determined  I  shall  not 
be  sentimental  this  morning,  let  me  tell  you  of  a  little 
adventure  I  have  had/' 

"  I  am  determined  you  shan't  be  gloomy,"  replied  he  ; 
"  so  turn  your  back  upon  the  sea,  and  tell  of  your  adven- 
ture.    It  annoyed  you,  you  said." 

"  Only  a  little,  and  perhaps  no  harm  was  intended,"  she 
said.  "  There  was  a  gentleman  ou  board  who  appeared 
to  recognize  me,  and  yet  seemed  so  surprised  and  agitated 
that  he  almost  frightened  me.  There  he  is  now,"  she 
added,  suddenly  lowering  her  voice,  as  the  person  referred 
to  opened  the  door  of  his  state  room  and  came  out. 

He  did  not  appear  to  be  coming  towards  that  part  of 
the  boat  where  they  were  sitting  ;  but  when  he  saw  him, 
Hubert  exclaimed,  "  That  gentleman  !  it  is  Colonel  Bell, 
our  neighbor  ;  "  and  hearing  the  sound  of  his  voice,  the 
stranger  looked  around,  and  recognizing  him,  came  for- 
ward to  greet  him,  and  was  presented  to  Helen.  She 
looked  at  him  earnestly  as  he  pronoimced  her  name  ;  but 
whatever  had  caused  his  excessive  emotion,  all  traces  of 
it  had  now  disappeared,  and  though  her  manner  was 
somewhat  confused,  he  was  calm,  as  if  he  saw  her  then 
for  the  first  time. 

She  could  not  understand  it,  and  began  to  doubt  the 
evidence  of  her  senses,  when  he  gradually  joined  in  the 
conversation  that  ensued,  with  an  ease  which  gave  no  in- 
dication of  the  storm  of  feeling  that  had  swept  over  him. 

She  might  indeed  have  concluded  it  had  been  the  result 


40  CASTE. 

of  some  mistake,  of  which  he  was  now  convinced,  and 
that  his  mention  of  her  name  was  a  mere  coincidence, 
only  she  noticed  how  adroitly  he  led  her  at  length  to 
speak  of  herself,  her  past  life,  her  present  prospects,  and 
of  her  brother  and  his  beautiful  young  wife.  His  manner 
was  deferential,  and  the  tact  with  which  he  elicited  all  he 
wished  to  know,  and  yet  told  her  nothing,  amused,  while 
it  provoked  her.  She  was  glad  when  the  boat  left  the 
wharf,  and  she  could  make  the  dread  of  sea-sickness  an 
excuse  for  leaving  them.  Comfortably  located  in  her 
berth,  she  had  leisure  for  thought  and  self-examination. 
Her  impressible  nature  had  been  much  excited  by  the 
various  scenes  and  events  of  the  day,  and  her  proud,  pas- 
sionate heart  had  been  stirred  to  its  depths  by  her  unex- 
pected meeting  wdth  Hubert  Warner. 

Although  she  had  been  two  years  an  inmate  of  his 
father's  family,  her  acquaintance  with  hirii  had  been  re- 
cent. He  had  left  home  soon  after  her  arrival  there,  and 
during  the  few  days  they  were  together,  amid  the  new 
scenes  and  faces  surrounding  her,  she  had  hardly  thought 
of  him.  But  even  then,  her  dark,  splendid  beauty  im- 
pressed him  so  deeply  that  he  did  not  forget  her  Avhile 
absent,  rieturning  three  or  four  months  jircvious  to  this 
time,  he  had  foimd  his  admiration  fixed  and  augmented 
by  the  more  full  acquaintance  which  the  freedom  of  do- 
mestic life  allowed,  w-hile  her  warm,  quick  feelings,  that 
threw  an  exquisite  gentleness  over  her  natural  dignity  of 


P  R  I  I)  E     A  X  D     R  i;  S  0  I,  U  T  I  O  X  .  41 

manner,  and  her  poetical  temperament,  keenly  alive  to  the 
aspirations  of  natnre  and  art,  awakened  emotions  warmer 
and  more  enduring  than  mer?  admiration. 

Bnt  Helen  was  proud,  and  though  treated  with  respect 
and  affection,  and  almost  with  the  familiarity  of  a  daugh- 
ter, by  Mr.  and  Jirs.  'Warner,  she  knew  too  well  that  her 
position  as  governess  was  considered  one  of  inferiority  by 
the  aristocratic  families  around,  and  that  it  was  thought 
an  act  of  condescension  in  them  to  allow  her  the  place  in 
their  rogard  to  which  she  considered  herself  entitled. 
She  had  no  vulgar  ambition  to  attain  a  position  among 
those  who  fancied  themselves  her  superiors,  and  she 
shrank  with  disgust  from  the  suspicions  and  innuendoes 
which  began  to  reach  her  in  various  ways,  as  soon  as  Hu- 
bert Warner's  return  was  known,  and  steeled  her  heart 
against  him  as  the  remote  cause  of  that  which  had  an- 
noyed her.  Perhaps  her  reserve,  and  the  indifference, 
which  he  saw  was  unfeigned,  only  piqued  him  to  more 
assiduous  attention,  and  made  her  society  more  attractive. 
Opposition  was  pleasant  to  a  man  of  his  strong  will  and 
energy  of  character,  and  he  made  it  a  study  to  find  out 
how  to  interest  her,  and  compel  her  love. 

The  affinity  vrhich  exists  between  certain  contrasting 
qualities  aided  him  in  this  respect.  His  calmness  gave 
him  power  over  her  excitable  temperament ;  his  social, 
mirth-finding  disposition  opposed  pleasantly  the  tendency 
to  sadness  inherent  in  her  own  ;  and  his  strong  commoii 
4* 


42  C  A  S  X  E  . 

sense  strengthened  and  refreslied  her,  though  it  often  au- 
daciously dissipated  her  day  dreams  ;  while  in  intellectual 
culture  and  cesthetic  taste  they  found  many  points  of 
sympathy. 

Yet  he  had  talked  little  of  love.  Satisfied  with  the 
enjoyment  of  the  present,  he  had  not  dared  risk  his  hopes 
for  the  future,  until  he  had  more  secure  hold  of  the  secret 
springs  of  thought  and  feeling ;  and  Helen  had  left  him 
to  attend  her  brother's  wedding,  without  hearing  the 
words  which  she  expected  and  half  hoped  for,  as  a  means 
of  release  from  her  embarrassment.  She  had  intended  to 
reject  him,  and  had  an  opportunity  occurred,  she  would 
probably  have  done  so,  without  at  all  realizing  how  much 
the  hope  and  happiness  of  her  life  were  bound  up  in  him. 
But  with  absence  and  change  came  other  emotions  —  mor- 
tification that  she  had  mistaken  him,  and  the  sting  of  se- 
cret pain,  in  a  fear  that  she  had  betrayed  the  expectations 
Ms  manner  had  raised,  and  that  he  had  been  amusing  his 
vanity  at  her  expense,  mistaking  the  feelings  with  which 
she  regarded  him. 

But  what  then !  AVhy  should  she  care  for  his  opinion  r 
Ah,  there  was  the  keenest  stab  of  thought.  In  her  inmost 
heart  she  realized  now  how  she  had  deceived  herself,  and 
she  aAvokc  to  the  chagrin  of  knowing  that  the  hours  of 
her  careless  girlhood,  the  calmness  of  her  proud  heart, 
had  passed  away,  leaving  in  its  place  only  the  trembling 
and  the  shame  of  an  unacknowledged  affection. 


L  O  V  E  '  S     N  E  "VV"     E  N  V  O  Y  .  4t> 

She  striTggled  against  it,  slie  put  it  bravely  down,  she 
ignored  it,  and  longed  impatiently  to  return  %>  Ids  home, 
that  she  might  convince  him  also  how  little  she  cared  for 
him.  She  had  pictured  to  herself  how  coldly  and  proud- 
ly she  would  meet  him  ;  and  noAV  his  unexpected  com- 
ing, his  quiet  assumption  of  their  old  friendship,  had 
baffled  all  her  jilans.  But  what  could  she  do  in  this  del- 
icate dilemma,  and  what  reason  could  she  give  him  for 
coldness  and  reserve  ? 

Wearied  with  these  thoughts,  at  length  she  fell  asleep. 
The  beams  of  the  rising  sun,  glancing  along  the  ceiling  of 
the  dusky  cabin,  first  roused  her  from  her  slumbers  ;  and 
as  she  lay  dreamily  listening  to  the  confused  noises  around 
her,  she  was  sensible  of  a  dark  form  which  obscured  all 
the  little  space  before  her  berth,  and  a  large,  hard  hand 
passed  slowly  over  her  face,  resting  upon  the  eyelids  wdth 
a  weight  that  would  have  crushed  out  sleep,  if  sleep  had 
been  lingering  there.  Starting  back  with  a  faint  excla- 
mation, Helen  drew  aside  the  curtain,  and  saw  the  pre- 
siding genius  of  the  cabin,  Aunt  Rose  — "  coal  black 
Rose "  she  might  have  been  called  with  truth,  for  she 
Avas  a  perfect  mountain  of  ebony,  and  her  immense  hands 
and  feet  were  only  in  proportion  to  her  biirly  figure.  A 
bright  red  turban  bound  her  brows,  and  beneath  it  her 
small  round  eyes  were  twinkling  and  peering,  and  her 
face  had  a  ludicrous  expression,  as  she  exclaimed,  — 

"  Thank    de   Lord !   she    done    woke   up   at  last.      See 


44  CASTE. 

here,  miss;   your   husband  up    star    dare,  he   want  you 
mighty  lbad;i' 

"  My  husband  !  I  have  no  husband,"  said  Helen,  in 
amazement. 

"  Well,  den,  your  beau  —  he  must  be  one  or  toder,  he 
so  despit  onpatient.  He  been  at  me  dis  half  hour,  — 
'Aunt  Kose  —  Aunt  Rose  '  —  till  I's  'plexed  out  o'  all  pa- 
tience myself.  Come,  miss,  do  get  up,  and  I'll  help  you 
dress." 

"  I  don't  want  to  get  up  yet,"  said  Helen,  much  amused. 
"  Go  tell  the  gentleman  I'll  come  by  and  by." 

Aunt  Rose  gave  an  impatient  shake  of  the  head,  and 
twirled  her  mountainous  form  completely  around  on  one 
heel,  with  an  ease  which  would  have  done  credit  to  a 
dancing  girl.  Then  seizing  Helens  hands  in  one  of  hers,' 
as  if  about  to  drag  her  out  of  bed,  she  exclaimed,  "  Now 
don't,  miss  —  don't  send  mo  back  wid  dat  word  ;  for  he's 
jest  ravin  ,  and  dere's  no  knowin'  what  he'll  do  to  you 
when  he  do  get  hold  of  you,  if  you  don't  come  now. 
You  know  what  de  men  is  when  dey's  in  a  hurry  —  dcy 
do  kick  up  boberations." 

Her  gesture  of  warning  was  so  comical  that  Helen 
laughed  outright.  "  There  is  no  need  of  hurrying,"  said 
she  ;   "  we  are  not  yet  over  the  bar," 

"  No,  miss,  but  we's  mos'  up  to  it ;  and  besides,  he 
wants  you  ;  and  you  know,  miss,  dese  men,  when  dey 
wants  any  thing,  'pears  like  dey  vms'  hah  it,  and  all  de 


SABLE  DIPLOMACY  SUCCESSFUL.     45 

women  hab  to  stand  round  till  dey  gets  it.  Come,  miss, 
tain't  no  use  waitin'." 

"  What  does  he  want  of  me  ?  "  said  Helen,  rising  lazily 
on  her  elbow  to  look  at  her  watch  ;  "  is  there  any  thing 
along  shore  to  look  at  ?  " 

"  Now  hear  de  woman !  jes'  hear  her !  "  exclaimed 
Hose,  throwing  up  her  arms,  and  fidgeting  through  all 
her  huge  frame  Avith  a  vehemence  that  threatened  serious 
consequences  to  the  fastenings  of  her  scanty  cotton  dress. 
"  Hear  dis  woman  talk  !  Got  a  beau  up  stair  to  look  at, 
and  axing  me  what  dcre  is  to  see  !  Bless  my  soul  —  I's 
done  beat  now  !  " 

This  burst  of  pathos  was  irresistible,  and,  helpless  with 
laughter,  in  which  she  was  joined  by  several  of  her  fellow- 
travellers,  Helen  allowed  herself  to  be  raised  from  the 
snug  little  berth,  and  Rose  assisted  her  in  dressing ; 
fuming  and  fidgeting  all  the  time  at  "  dat  impatientest 
man,"  whose  loud,  cheerful  call,  penetrating  at  length  the 
depths  of  the  cabin,  assured  her  that  Rose  was  not  mis- 
taken. 

"That  stupid  nigger!  "  Avas  Hubert  "Warner's  first  ex- 
clamation, as  she  came  into  the  saloon  where  he  awaited 
her  ;  "  I  thought  I  never  should  make  her  understand 
Avhich  lady  it  was  I  wanted.  There  has  been  such  a 
splendid  sunrise,  and  I  was  determined  you  should  see  it ; 
but  she  didn't  get  you  up  soon  enough." 

"  I  thought  you  must  have    been  more   than   usually 


46  CASTE. 

impressive,"  replied  Helen,  "  for  she  seemed  to  be  pene- 
trated with  the  idea  that  I  must  be  got  up,  whether  I 
would  or  not." 

"  It  took  something  more  material  than  an  idea  to 
penetrate  her  thick  skull,"  said  Hubert,  laughing.  "I 
gave  her  a  shilling  to  be  sure  and  find  you,  for  I  didn't 
know  that  she  would  try  other^\dse." 

They  went  out  on  the  deck  together,  where  they  were 
soon  joined  by  Colonel  Bell,  and  some  other  gentlemen 
with  whom  Hubert  had  formed  acquaintance. 

The  morning  was  fine,  and  when  they  had  passed  the 
bar,  the  low,  verdant  islands  of  Charleston  harbor 
breathed  a  welcome  from  their  palmetto  groves,  in  balmy, 
flower-scented  airs  that  are  more  than  ever  delightful  to 
one  coming  from  the  chilly  winds  of  a  northern  spring. 

Colonel  Bell  sought  to  converse  with  Helen,  and  his 
manner  evinced  a  tender  regard  for  her,  and  a  deference 
to  her  opinions,  which  almost  disarmed  her  of  her  preju- 
dice against  him.  He  talked  well  of  the  world  of  letters 
and  the  world  of  men,  both  of  which  he  had  studied 
much,  and  unconsciously  she  was  led  to  express  many  of 
her  own  ideas  and  feelings,  to  Avhich  he  listened  Avith  an 
eager  interest,  quite  unlike  the  usual  careless  courtesy  of 
a  passing  acquaintance. 

Before  they  left  the  boat,  he  found  an  opportunity, 
amid  the  bustle  of  landing,  to  speak  to  her  unheard  by 
others.     Taking  her  hand,  as  if  to  bid  her  good  by,  he 


AN     EXPLANATION ALMOST.  47 

said  in  a  constrained  manner,  looking  at  her  anxiously 
the  while,  as  if  to  read  her  thoxights,  "  You  must  have 
thought  my  words  and  my  actions  alike  strange,  during 
our  first  interview  yesterday  morning." 

"  I  was  surprised,  indeed,"  replied  she,  "  but  supposed 
you  had  mistaken  me  for  some  one  else." 

She  spoke  in  an  inquiring  tone,  and  he  cast  down  his 
eyes,  and  answered  in  an  absent,  hesitating  manner,  like 
one  in  deep  thought.  "  I  could  explain  it  to  you  —  if 
it  were  best  —  but  not  here  —  not  now.  You  must  not 
let  what  I  said  trouble  you.  Think  it  is  all  a  mistake, 
and  forget  it." 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  do  so,"  said  Helen,  "  for  if  I 
thought  it  any  thing  but  a  mistake,  I  should  be  much 
troubled.  You  seemed  so  much  in  earnest,  that  I  don't 
know  but  I  ought  to  demand  an  explanation,  at  any  rate." 

"  No,  no ;  think  nothing  of  it,"  he  replied,  hurriedly. 
"  I  have  a  nervous  manner  when  any  thing  comes  suddenly, 
and  you  reminded  me  so  \ividly  of  the  past  —  but  I  can- 
not explain  now.  Mr.  Warner  is  coming  for  you,  and  I 
see  the  carriage  waits.  Probably  we  shall  meet  again 
soon,  and  then " 

Whatever  he  might  have  said  further  was  lost  in  the 
loud  roar  of  the  escaping  steam,  and  in  another  moment 
her  hand  was  drawn  through  Hubert's  arm,  and  slie  found 
herself  amid  the  hurrying  crowd  on  the  wharf.  A  rat- 
tling, racing  drive  brought  them  to  the  depot  just  in  time 


48  CASTE. 

for  tlie  cars,  and  after  a  ride  of  several  hours,  they 
stopped  at  the  station  where  a  carriage  was  waiting  for 
them. 

It  was  a  heavy,  old-fashioned  coach,  that  had  e-videntiy 
done  good  service  through  one  generation  at  least ;  but  it 
was  capacious  and  well  preserved,  and  the  family  would 
as  soon  have  thought  of  discarding  the  roof  that  sheltered 
their  infancy,  as  of  exchanging  it  for  a  more  modern  ve- 
hicle. Upon  the  box  sat  the  coachman,  listening  with  an 
air  of  conscious  dignity  to  the  various  remarks  made  by 
a  group  of  idlers,  who  were  examining  the  silver-mounted 
harness,  and  speculating  upon  the  good  points  of  the 
pair  of  powerful  horses,  whose  impatience  could  hardly 
be  restrained  by  his  occasional  word  of  command. 

When  he  saw  his  young  master  and  Helen  getting  out 
of  the  cars,  he  left  his  elevated  seat,  and  came  forward, 
followed  by  the  footman,  M'ho  had  been  loitering  among 
the  bystanders. 

"  How  d'ye,  John  ?  Rafe,  how  d'ye  ?  All  right  at 
home,  I  suppose,"  said  Hubert,  holding  out  two  fingers 
of  each  hand  to  them,  as  they  approached.  Rafe  grinned, 
and  pulled  awkwardly  at  his  old  cap ;  but  John  made  an 
elaborate  congee,  and  replied  with  slow,  pompous  gravity, 
"  Our  folks  all  has  dere  health  bery  well.  Mass  Hubert, 
and  say  tell  you  how  d'ye  for  every  body."    • 

"  Well,  bustle  about,  and  get  the  luggage  on,  and  we'll 
be  off,"  said  Hubert,  cheerfully. 


EBONYIIABLEQUIX.  49 

Witli  a  gesture  of  autliority  wortliy  of  an  autocrat, 
Joliii  directed  Rafe's  attention  to  the  trunks  on  the  plat- 
form behind  him,  and  then  returning  Helen's  pleasant 
greeting  by  a  dignified  bow,  he  walked  before  them  to  the 
carriage,  and  opened  the  doffr  for  her  to  enter.  But  alf 
that  instant,  a  diminutive  form,  starting  suddenly  through 
the  window,  alighted,  apparently  on  his  hsa'l,  and  turning 
a  somerset,  stood  quietly  before  them,  cap  in  hand,  rncule 
one  or  two  little  bows,  and  then  crossing  his  arms  behiizd 
him,  gave  a  slight  sigh,  and  said  demurely,  "  I  comod 
over." 

"  Coesar  Augustus  !  I  should  tmnk  you  did,"  exclaimed 
Hubert,  laughing.     "  "What  did  yo,u  conie  for  ?  " 

"  Dem  two  niggers  coaxed  me,"  replied  the  mite  of  a 
fellow  who  owned  this  high-sounding  name,  rolling  up  his 
eyes,  and  ducking  his  head  at  John,  who  stood  holding 
open  the  door,  and,  now,  vexed  beyond  measure  at  tliis 
unexpected  allegation,  exclaimed,  "  De  liar  ;  "  then  touch- 
ing his  hat  deferentially  to  Hubert,  he  added,  "  Massa 
knows  dat  I  never  wouldn't  hab  allov*-cd  no  sich  —  neber 
—  and  dat  chile,  for  a  small  boy,  do  tell  dc  most  extensile 
lies." 

"  No  matter,  John,"  said  Helen,  smiling,  "  wo  all  kncv/ 
what  Flibertigibbet  is." 

"  If  I  had  my   way,"  pursued  John,   "  dat    are   chile 
should  be  larnt  some  manners.     He  ncber  did  lehave  one 
5 


50  CASTE. 

minute  since  he  was  bom,  and  he  don't  hab  de  leastest 
respect  for  his  betters." 

As  he  spoke,  he  shook  his  fist  at  the  boy  slyly,  while 
Hubert  assisted  Helen  into  the  carriage ;  biit  the  child 
spun  around  several  times,  with  comical  gestures  of  defi- 
ance, made  a  succession  of  somersets,  and  then  diving 
between  the  horses'  legs,  reappeared  on  the  other  side, 
and  AAdth  one  bound  perched  himself  on  the  top  of  the 
forward  wheel,  as  cool  and  unbreathed  as  if  he  had  not 
moved  a  muscle. 

He  was  so  small,  so  black,  ^^'ith  such  quick  little  move- 
ments, and  such  a  ^funnj'  little  round  head,  that  at  first 
sight  one  hardly  knew  whether  to  think  him  one  of  the 
human  race. 

The  trunks  were  sfi'apped,  the  footman  had  taken  his 
stand  upon  them,  and  the  coachman  had  mounted  his  box  ; 
but  still  Ceesar  Augustus  sat  composedly  striding  the 
wheel,  and  chattering  thi'ough  the  window  to  Helen  of 
various  household  news,  until  the  moment  when  the 
horses  started.  "  Take  care  !  "  cried  Hubert,  as  he  saw 
the  preliminary  gathering  of  the  reins. 

"  De  debil  looks  out  for  dat  boy,"  muttered  John,  ^^•ith- 
out  turning  his  head,  and  off  the  horses  started  ;  while 
the  event  served  to  justify  the  belief  in  supernatural  pro- 
tection of  some  sort,  for  the  boy  at  the  same  instant 
caught  at  the  loops  by  the  windqws,  swung  himself  from 


ALOFT.  51 

his  dangerous  position,  and  clambered  to  the  top  of  the 
carriage  with  the  agility  of  a  monkey. 

"  Not  there  !  not  there  !  come  in  here  with  us."  Helen 
had  called  to  him  unheeded,  and  now  Hiibert  repeated 
the  command  in  a  more  peremptory  tone,  as  he  remem- 
bered how  unsafe  was  the  smooth,  unguarded  place  where 
he  had  perched  himself. 

But  a  great  shout  had  arisen  from  the  group  of  idlers 
around,  as  they  witnessed  this  last  feat,  and,  chuckling 
Avith  gratified  pride,  the  boy  cried  out,  "  O,  neber  you 
mind,  massa;  I's  comf'ble  'nuff." 

"  Get  off  that,  you  monkey,"  'persisted  Hubert,  half 
laughing  and  half  vexed.  "  You'll  fall  and  break  your 
neck,  and  I  won't  run  the  risk  of  it." 

"Neber  you  mind,  massa,"  shoulied  Gus  ;  "neber  mind 
'bout  runnin'  any  risks.  I  can  hold  on  'zactly  the  same 
ef  you  don't  run  any." 

"  Don't  be  scai'e,  massa,"  added  Rafe  ;  "  dat  Gus  am 
sure  'nufi"  monkey.     He  neck  neber'll  break  fallin'." 


CIIAPTEE    THIRD 


"  A  man  of  consequence  and  notoriety ; 

Ilis  name,  with  the  addition  of  ■  esquire,' 
Stood  lii;^li  upou  the  list  cf  each  society, 

Vt"hose  zeal  dad  watchfulness  the  saered  fire 
Cf  sciuncs,  agriculture,  art,  and  learning. 
Keep  on  our  country's  altars  bright  and  burning." 


Mks.  Wakxeu  was  one  of  tliose  busy,  cheerful,  ener- 
gotic  v/Oiiien,  wlio  ahvays  carry  about  with  them  the 
atmosphorc  of  a  ■warm  spring  day,  breezy  and  bright ;  and 
if  she  had  her  clouds  and  her  Ghowers  as  well,  nobody 
iihed  her  the  less  for  fliem.  With  a  practical  mind  and 
steady  common  sense,  that  supplied  the  place  of  deep 
thought  or  intellectual  acquirements,  she  acquitted  her- 
self well  in  every  situation,  and  managed  all  parts  of  her 
domestic  menage  with  a  decision  and  skill  worthy  of 
admiration,  accomplishing  every  week  an  amount  of 
\vork  that  would  put  to  shame  the  doJce  far  nienle,  and 
the  dissipated  idleness  of  many  northern  dames  in  her 
station  of  life. 

Mr.  V;"araer  was  much  like  hor,  and  the  business  of 
Lie  plantation  was  conducted  in  the  same  jjrompt,  liberal, 
cheerful  manner  v.'liich  marked  the  household  arrange- 
ments. 

(52) 


A     SOUTHERN     MATRON.  53 

All  their  children  had  married  and  settled  at  a  distance 
from  home  except  Hubert,  who  for  that  reason  had  long 
since  been  dubbed  the  old  bachelor  of  the  family. 

The  death  of  one  of  their  sons,  who  had  been  some 
years  a  -svido-wcr,  had  thrown  his  children  under  their  pro- 
tection, and  been  the  occasion  of  Helen's  introduction 
into  the  family,  where  she  soon  became  a  favorite  with  all. 

Mrs.  "Warner  v,as  not  superior  to  the  prejudiccafcf  her 
class,  or  free  from  the  trammels  of  early  education,  and 
had  a  good  share  of  the  respect  for  "  family"  that  seems 
inherent  in  southern  blood  ;  but  her  heart  was  full  of  kind- 
ness, and  when  she  chose  to  step  over  the  established 
barriers,  she  had  sufficient  courage  to  do  it.  She  liked 
Helen  from  the  first,  and  seeing  her  real  superiority,  de- 
termined that  she  should  be  received  in  society  as  an 
equal  ;  and  failing  in  that,  had  sustained  her  all  the  more 
zealously  in  the  home  circle,  where  she  ruled  supreme. 

Since  she  had  been  absent,  she  seemed  more  necessary 
than  ever ;  and  if  the  young  lady  had  known  the 
thoughts  which  passed  through  Mrs.  Warner's  mind  as 
she  stood  at  the  door  to  receive  her,  she  would  probably 
have  replied  less  coldly  to  Hubert's  very  original  remark 
about  the  shortness  of  the  drive  —  a  reply  which  caused 
that  gentlonan  to  meet  in  a  most  ungracious  manner  tlic 
congratulations  of  the  family  upon  his  return. 

"  Come  out  into  the  kitchen  A\-ith  me  and  see  the  new 
cook,"    said   little    Emma   Warner    to    Helen,    as    they 


54 


arose  from  the  tea  table,  which  had  been  awaiting  her 
arrival. 

"  The  new  cook  !  "Where's  the  old  one  r  Where  is 
Queeny  ? " 

"  O,  she's  gone  !  "  said  Emma.  "  I  didn't  care  much, 
she  was  so  cross.  She  never  would  do  what  I  wanted 
her  to."' 

"  I've  exchanged  cooks  with  my  daughter  Ellen,''  said 
Mrs.  Warner,  as  she  met  Helen's  inquiring  glance.  "  El- 
len ha-s  aWays  insisted  that  no  food  ever  tasted  like  that 
Queeny  cooked,  and  so  I  let  her  go.  She  took  her 
youngest  child  with  her,  and  was  willing  enough  for 
the  move."' 

"  Come,  let's  go  see  them —  they  all  Avant  to  see  you,"' 
said  Emma ;  and  with  little  Angle  clasping  her  other 
hand,  Helen  crossed  the  large  paved  court  and  entered 
the  kitchen. 

Half  a  dozen  of  the  servants  were  collected  there  to 
greet  her,  and  she  was  introduced  in  due  form  to  the 
cook  —  a  tall  woman,  who  looked  as  if  she  might  have 
been  originally  made  of  wood  and  painted  black,  but  had 
nov,-  become  a  sort  of  grizzly  gray  from  exposure  to  the 
v.eather. 

"  What  did  you  say  her  name  was  ?  '"  Helen  asked 
Emma,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Kentucky,"  said  the  child,  laughing  :  "  ain"t  it  a  fun- 
ny name  ?     That  was  what  1  wanted  you  to  sec  her  for."' 


/ 


A     NEW     N  O  M  E  N  C  I,  A  T  TT  K  E  .  55 

"  How  came  you  to  have  such  a  name  r  "  said  Helen, 
perceiving  by  the  shining  rows  of  teeth,  displayed  in  the 
dark  faces  around  her,  that  Emma's  remark  had  been 
overheard. 

"  Why,  miss,"  replied  the  cook,  good  naturedly,  "  you 
see,  my  mammy  she's  raised  in  Loizany ;  and  so,  when 
her  fus'  chile  come,  she  name  him  artcr  de  ole  state,  for 
de  sake  ob  de  'lations  she  lef '  dere.  A\"ell,  de  nex'  one 
she  name  Mississippi  —  dcy  calls  liim  Sip.  Den,  when 
de  nex'  one  come,  she  ax  massa  for  a  name,  and  he  laf 
and  say,  '  Go  it,  gal  —  keep  right  on  wid  de  states,  and 
when  you  gits  em  all  in  your  family,  I'll  gib  ye  your 
time.'  So  ebery  chile  come  she  ax  massa  what  name 
next,  and  he  tell  her." 

"  Did  she  get  all  the  states  in  the  family  r  "  asked 
Helen,  much  amused. 

"  Well,  miss,  dey  come  on  bery  well  till  they  come 
to  me.  Dey  done  name  me  Kentucky,  and  dey  hab  mighty 
tight  time  getting  me  raised  ;  and  arter  dat  de  picaninnies, 
somehow  dey  all  die.  'Pears  like  it's  so  cold  up  dare  in 
dem  states  dey  was  name  for,  de  children  was  born  wid 
ager  chills." 

"  Did  your  mother  get  her  '  time,'  after  all  ? "  asked 
Helen,  smiling. 

"  Yes,  miss,"  said  the  woman,  and  her  face  grew  sad ; 
"  artcr  good  many  years  she  got  her  time,  wid  de  ^nod 
Massa  on  de  old  phtnlatioii  ii/i  afiorr." 


56  CASTE. 

"  Has  your  husband  been  to  see  you  since  I've  been 
away?"  said  Helen,  turning  to  a  trig-looking  mulatto 
woman  who  stood  near. 

"  No,  miss,"  she  answered  ;  "  I'se  done  'spected  him 
ever  since,  but  he  ain't  come  yet.  I  dono  ^^■hat  to  tink 
'bout  it.  He  send  me  Avord  he  come  sure  'nuff  "bout  dat 
time,  ef  Probidence  permitted  and  de  weather  was  pleas- 
ant ;  and  I  dono  what  de  reason,  I  ain't  seen  him.  He  lib 
twenty  miles  from  here,  you  know,  miss,"  she  added, 
apologetically. 

"  Yes,  that  is  almost  too  far  for  him  to  be  able  to  send 
you  N\  ord  what  has  detained  him,"  said  Helen,  "  and  I 
reckon  you'll  see  him  before  long." 

"  Thank'ee,  miss,"  said  the  girl,  evidently  pleased  with 
her  sympathy.     "  Sometime  I'se  scare,  p'raps  he  sick." 

"  You  needn't  be  scare  o'fZo/,"  said  one  of  her  coru- 
panions,  a  little  roughly.  "  He  send  you  word  what  de 
matter  is." 

"He  didnt  —  dat  all  a  lie,"  exclaimed  the  other, 
turning  quickly,  while  her  eyes  filled  with  tears  of  min- 
gled grief  and  anger. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Helen. 

"  Xothin',  only  ^Michel  send  Kissy  word  he  done  gib 
her  up,  and  she  might  get  n'odor  hnsbmul,  and  she  won't 
b'lieb  it." 

"  He  didn't  neber  scud  no  sich  —  I  know  he  didn't. 
He  good  honest  boy,  and  Til  see  him  yet,"  persisted 
Kissy,  vchcmciitly. 


BIIEAKI>'G     IXL     XEWS.  57 

"  O  laws  !  what  de  good  of  a  wife  twenty  miles  off?  " 
said  her  antagonist.  "  Michel  won't  neber  eat  no  more 
hoe  cakes  ob  yoxir  makin'." 

But  Kissy,  with  tears  running  over  her  face,  refused  to 
give  up  the  faith  of  her  woman  heart,  or  believe  in  the 
fickleness  of  her  lover ;  and  leaving  them  in  the  midst  of 
a  storm  of  words,  Helen  turned  away. 

Kentucky  had  all  the  tuns  been  standing  behind  the 
others,  and  seeking  to  convey  some  information  by  making 
the  most  grotesque  gestures  while  they  were  talking, 
pointing  at  Kissy,  rolling  her  eyes  till  only  the  whites  were 
visible,  and  shaping  silent  Avords  -with  distortions  of  the 
mouth  awful  to  behold  ;  and  nov,-  she  followed  Helen  as 
she  stepped  outside  the  door,  and  with  a  significant  jerk 
backwards,  which  almost  dislocated  her  neck,  she  whis- 
pered, "  De  true  fac'  is,  miss,  dat  Michel  is  sold." 

"  Sold  !  O,  dear !  What  will  poor  Kissy  do  when  she 
knows  it? " 

"  Dat  jes  it,  miss  ;  we  titiks  ifll  come  nigh  to  kill  her, 
and  so  we'se  preparin'  her  mind,  'fore  she  hears  it." 

"  How  ?  "  asked  Hclen,-iQ  perplexity. 

"  Why,  miss,  don't  ye  see.  We  tells  her  dis,  and  she 
feels  so  shame,  and  so  mizzable,  to  tink  ho  aone  forsook 
her,  and  den  when  she  find  out  de  troof,  'pears  like  she'd 
take  it  easier.  Kase  ye  see,  miss,  de  second  strouble  dat 
comes  aint  neber  so  hard  to  bar  as  de  first." 

In   spite   of   her   sympathy    with   Kissy' a   misfortvine, 


58  C  A  S  I  E  . 

Helen  could  not  kelp  smiling  at  this  specimen  of  primi- 
tive philosophy,  and  as  Kentucky  went  back  to  the  kitchen 
she  followed  the  two  little  girls,  who  had  gone  to  the 
other  side  of  the  yard,  where,  under  a  spreading  tree, 
stood  a  table,  on  which  were  large  pails  of  milk.  A 
short,  roly-poly  looking  negro  woman  stood  beside  it, 
dealing  out  the  foaming  whiteness  to  a  troop  of  little 
urchins,  of  all  possible  shades  of  black  and  tawny  yel- 
low, who  came  from  the  distant  quarters  of  the  field 
hands  ;  each  carrying  a  tin  cup  of  half-pint  dimensions, 
which  was  presented  to  the  presiding  genius  of  the  milk 
pail,  and  eagerly  drained  when  she  had  filled  it.  Milk  is 
healthy  food  for  all  young  animals,  as  Mr.  Warner  knew  ; 
and  this  was  one  of  the  established  customs  by  which  his 
live  stock  w^as  kept  in  good  order. 

It  was  funny  to  see  the  little  creatures  as  they  came 
around  the  table,  some  of  the  older  ones  leading  the 
"  wee  toddling  things,"  that  could  hardly  walk  alone  ; 
some  boldly  marching  up  to  claim  their  portion,  and  some 
shyly  hanging  back  till  called;  and  all  casting  furtive 
glances  at  Mrs.  Warner,  who  stood  by  to  keep  order 
among  the  otherwise  unruly  group. 

"  Still  at  my  old  post,  you  see,"  she  said,  as  Helen 
joined  her. 

"•I  was  just  thinking  how  picturesque  the  scene  is," 
replied  she.  "  You  look  so  placid  and  cheerful,  —  the 
very  goddess  of  benignity,  in  a  white  sun  bonnet, — and 


r  A  51  I  L  Y     CARES.  59 

Emma  and  Angle  flitting  like  -white  doves  among  the 
darky  group,  that  tarn  up  their  queer  little  round  heads 
at  you,  with  a  sort  of  worshipful  air  acknowledging 
their  allegiance.  Then  there  is  Aunt  Ann,  looking  like  a 
good-natured  gnome,  whom  you  have  invoked  to  do  your 
bidding." 

"  What  mought  dat  be  you  called  me  ?"  interrupted 
Aunt  Ann,  in  a  tone  which  showed  she  half  suspected  the 
comparison  A\as  not  very  complimentary  to  her  ;  and  Mrs. 
Warner  added  a  laughing  rejoinder. 

"  O,  yes,  it  is  very  picture-like  to  a  yoimg  lady  of  vivid 
imagination,  and  I've  no  doubt  you  enjoy  looking  at  it; 
but  only  think  what  it  is  to  do.  I've  stood  here  to  see 
the  milk  given  out  to  the  mothers  and  fathers  of  these 
little  ones,  when  they  were  no  higher  than  their  children 
are  now,  and  every  night  since  then,  when  I've  been  at 
home,  I've  had  this  to  attend  to.  Put  that  stern  reality 
beside  your  fancy  piece.  Miss  Helen." 

"  Look  on  this  picture,  and  on  this,"  said  Helen,  taking 
a  theatiical  air.  "  If  Ave  must  descend  to  realities,  pray 
why  do  you  do  it,  since  it  is  a  burden  ?  " 

"  Because  it  is  my  business,"  replied  jNIrs.  Warner. 
"If  I  were  not  here  to  keep  order,  the  timid  and  weak 
would  be  overpowered  by  the  strong  and  greedy ;  and 
besides  the  amount  of  quarrelling  which  M'ould  ensue, 
half  the  children  would  go  unfed." 

"  Why  don't  you  let  their  mothers  feed'  them  ?  " 


60  CASTE. 

"Mercy,  child;  you  don't,  know  any  tMng  about  do- 
mestic management,  or  you  would  never  ask  that,"  said 
Mrs.  "V^'arner,  a  little  impatiently. 

"  I  know  the  result  of  the  present  system  of  manage- 
ment is,  that  either  the  mistress  is  overburdened  v.ith 
cares,  and  taxed  with  disagreeable  and  tiresome  duties,  or 
the  servants  are  shamefully  neglected,"  replied  Helen. 
"  I  should  really  like  to  have  a  change  of  laws  and  cus- 
toms, that  Vv-ould  set  these  people  in  families,  as  the  Lord 
created  man  to  be." 

"  It  would  be  of  no  use,"  said  Mrs.  Warner ;  "  you 
have  lived  here  long  enough  to  see  that  they  can't  take 
care  of  themselves." 

"What  can  you  spect  ob  um,  when  dey  ain't  raised 
to  do  it  ?  "  interrupted  Ann  again, 

"  I  don't  expect  it,"  replied  her  mistress,  kindly.  "  I 
am  not  complaining.  I  expect  always  to  be  in  place  of  a 
mother  to  my  people." 

"  Maybe  you  find  your  'count  in  it,  too.  Dey  makes 
better  ser^-ants  when  dey  don't  know  nothin',"  said  Aunt 
Ann,  curtly  and  half  aside,  with  a  quick  glance  at  Helen 
that  almost  startled  her,  from  its  intensity  of  meaning, 

Mrs.  Warner  looked  at  her  with  sm-prise,  but  the  re- 
proof she  was  about  to  utter  was  arrested  by  a  child's 
voice  calling  and  crying  at  a  little  distance  ;  and  at  the 
same  moment,  Gus  appeared  in  the  gateway,  dragging 
after  him  a  negro  baby,  who,  being  hardly  able  to  walk, 


H  A  K  L  i;  Q  U  I  N  '  S     THICKS.  61 

had  been  left  behind  in  the  fiekl  by  the  child  to  whom  it 
had  been  given  in  charge.  Once  within  the  yard,  Gus 
di'opped  the  arm  by  which  he  had  upheld  the  tottering 
footsteps,  and  running  forward,  exclaimed,  — 

"  Dat  ar  little  nig  come  mighty  nigh  losin'  he  supper. 
Done  loss  it  altogercr,  ony  I  toted  him  'long." 

"  Where  you  done  found  him  ?  "  asked  Aunt  Ann. 

"  Down  dar  in  de  corn  row,"  he  replied. 

"  Well,  den,  take  dis  ar  and  gib  him,"  said  Ann,  pour- 
ing a  dipper  full  of  milk,  and  placing  it  in  his  hand. 

"  0,  don't  let  him  carry  it, — he  won't  get  it  safely 
across  the  yard,"  said  Mrs.  Warner. 

"  Time  he  begun  to  be  some  use.  Go  'long  wid  ye," 
persisted  Ann,  doggedly,  tapping  his  head  Avith  her  spoon, 
to  hasten  his  movements. 

He  went  off  quite  carefully  and  demurely,  until  he 
reached  the  spot  where  the  child  sat  on  the  ground,  and 
then,  with  a  motion  so  quick  it  was  difficult  to  tell  whether 
it  was  designed  or  accidental,  he  poured  the  milk  all  over 
the  dusty  wool  and  the  begrimmed  face  upturned  for  the 
expected  draught. 

The  "little  nig"  caught  its  breath,  and  renewed  its 
cries,  and  Ann  sprang  forward  to  avenge  the  mischief  with 
summary  punishment.  He  stood  still  until  she  had  nearly 
touched  him,  and  then  suddenly  darting  under  her  oiit- 
stretched  hands,  took  refuge  at  Mrs.  Warner's  side,  and 
clung  to  her  dress  for  security. 
6 


62  CASTE. 

"•  You  little  mlzzable  monkey  !  "  Ann  said,  vehemently, 
following  him  to  his  retreat ;  but  he  with  well-feigned 
innocence  looked  pleadingly  to  his  mistress,  exclaiming, 
"  O,  now,  Ma'am  Ann !  what  de  use  ?  Miss'  say  I 
couldn't  neber  tote  it  safe  !  You  s'posc  I  could  tote  it 
artcr  dat  ?     S'pose  I  make  miss  tell  a  lie  ?  " 

Mrs.  AVarner  released  her  dress  from  his  grasp,  and 
reproved  him  for  spilling  the  milk  ;  but  he  persisted  in 
declaring  it  an  accident,  and  she  was  so  much  amused  by 
his  ready  wit,  that  she  was  not  very  severe  with  him. 

When  this  dispute  had  been  settled,  and  the  children 
sent  away,  the  ladies  went  into  the  house.  Aunt  Ann 
looked  after  them,  as  she  slowly  gathered  up  her  pans, 
and  shaking  her  head  sagely,  she  muttered,  with  a  sigh, 
"Lord  help  dis  poor  ole  nigger.  I  b'leeves  dere  is  as 
much  difference  in  folks  as  dere  is  in  any  body  !  Ef  I 
was  ole  missis,  /wouldn't  spend  all  de  'dulgence  on  one 
little  brat  like  dat  —  I'd  save  some  for  somebody  dat  it 
'ud  do  some  good  to.  As  for  dat  ar  Gus,"  she  continued, 
"  de  Lord  knows  who  his  mammy  was,  but  I  b'leeves 
Sam''-'  was  Ms  daddy." 

On  reentering  the  parlor,  Helen  found  Hubert  and  his 
father  its  sole  occupants  ;  the  latter  reading  a  newspaper 
by  the  dim  t^^ilight,  and  the  former  sauntering  round  the 
room  with  an  air  of  ennui. 

"  How  long  you  have  been  gone,  mother  !  "  he  said,  as 


SKIRMISHING.  63 

she  entered  \\dth  Helen.  "  I  hope  you  found  the  people 
in  the  yard  interesting." 

"  Very  much  as  usual.  Why  didn't  you  come  out  with 
lis,  if  you  were  lonesome  here  without  us  ?  " 

"  I  was  afraid  of  intruding.  My  modesty  prevented 
me  from  following  either  you  or  my  inclinations." 

His  mother  had  been  lighting  a  candle,  and  now  she 
held  it  uji  within  a  few  inches  of  his  face,  saying  archly, 
"  Let's  see  how  you  look  when  you  arc  modest.  I  never 
knew  before  that  you  were  troubled  with  that  disease." 

"  You  can't  see  it  now  ;  it  is  under  my  whiskers,"  he 
rejoined. 

"  Perhaps  it  is  of  the  kind  which  '  hhishes  miseen,' " 
Helen  suggested. 

"  That's  it,  exactly,  Miss  Helen,  '  and  wastes  its  sweet- 
ness on'  —  persons  who  don't  appreciate  it,"  he  replied, 
with  a  glance  that,  spite  of  herself,  called  to  her  cheek 
the  blushes  that  were  lacking  on  his. 

"  Come  on.  Miss  Helen,"  called  Mr.  Warner,  throwing 
down  his  paper ;  "  let's  have  some  singing.  Tvc  heard 
nothing  fit  to  be  called  music  since  you  went  away." 

"Except  the  birds,"  H^n  said,  smiling,  as  she  seated 
herself  at  the  piano. 

"  Pooh  !  birds  don't  sing  ;  they  only  whistle  ;  "  and 
having  given  utterance  to  this  heresy,  he  leaned  back^  in 
his  chair,  and  composed  himself  for  the  enjoyment  ex- 
pected in  hearing  Helen's  voice. 


CHAPTER    FOURTH. 

«  Feed  him  with  the  sigh  that  rushes 

'Twixt  sweet  Ups,  whose  muteness  speaks 
With  the  eloquence  that  flushes 

All  a  hearfs  wealth  o'er  soft  cheeks; 
Feed  huB  with  a  world  of  blushes, 
And  a  glauce  that  shuns,  yet  seeks.' 

"  BtJST  as  ever,"  said  Helen,  as  early  the  next  morning 
she  entered  the  serving  room,  where  Mrs.  Warner  wa, 
standing  by  a  long  table,  covered  ,vith  piles  of  .ork, 
which  she  was  cutting  and  fitting  together.  Her  dehcate 
hands  looked  hardly  strong  enongh  to  wield  the  immense 
shears,  giants  of  the  genus  scissors,  with  wMch  she  shaped 
garments  from  the  coarse  osnahurgs  and  the  heavy  wool- 
lens; but  she  plied  the  steel  with  a  dexterity  and  swrft- 
ness  that  showed  she  was  fannliar  with  the  husmess. 

..Busy  as  ever,"  echoed  the  lady,  in  a  cheerM  tone. 
..  Sit  down,  child,  and  let  me  look  at  you.  The  child™ 
monopolized  you  so  entirely  lasfnight,  that  nobody  else 

had  a  chance." 

'^  I  was  going  on  to  the  school  room,  to  see  xf  all  .vas 
ready  for  the  children  to  commence  their  studies  to-day. 
It  wants  but  an  hour  to  school  time,"  said  Helen,  lookmg 
at  her  watch.  ^g^^ 


AIOTHER     goose's     DISCIPEE.  65 

"  School  must  begin  late  this  morning,"  answered  Mrs. 
Warner,  "and  your  presence  isn't  needed  there  just  noAV. 
We  have  had  the  room  papered  and  painted,  and  the 
workmen  were  so  delayed,  that  they  didn't  finish  it  till 
last  night.  The  matting  was  to  be  put  down,  and  the 
chairs  and  tables  carried  back,  last  evening ;  but  I  left  it 
for  Ann  to  do,  and  she  was  cross  and  lazy,  and  so  it  wasn't 
done,  and  your  school  must  wait  an  hour  or  two." 

"  And  Miss  Helen  am  like 

'De  man  in  de  moon,  como  down  too  soon, 
T'  inquire  de  way  to  Noledge,'  " 

said  a  little  voice  near  them.  They  did  not  need  to  turn 
to  the  open  window,  on  the  sill  of  which  he  sat  cross 
legged,  in  order  to  be  sure  who  it  was  that  uttered  this 
pert  rejoinder,  for  every  body  in  the  house  knew  that 
"  Mother  Goose  "  was,  to  the  boy  "  'Gus,"  alias  Caesar 
Augustus,  an  unfailing  fund  of  maxims  and  illustrations, 
Avhich  he  dispensed  liberally  on  all  occasions. 

"  You  hit  it  more  nearly  than  you  imagine,  with  your 
barbarous  pronunciation  of  the  good  old  English  town," 
said  Helen,  laughing,  as  she  went  towards  him.  "  AVhat 
a  little  monkey  you  are,  Gus !  What  have  you  been 
doing  since  I've  been  gone  r  " 

"  Dono,  miss.  Spect  I'se  been  growin.  I  docs  grow 
most  de  time,"  said  the  child,  gravely. 

"  You  vaxist  have  been  mighty  little  when  you  began, 
6^^ 


66  CASTE. 

if  that  is  the  case,  for  you  ain't  bigger  now  than  a  four- 
pence  set  up  edgewise." 

"  O,  yes,  miss,  I'se  bigger'n  datr  replied  he,  shaking 
his  head  with  a  sententious  air.  "I'se  bigger'n  dat 
when  I  -began.  I'se  de  bery  idencatle  chile  dat  you  read 
about  in  de  book. 

'  I  was  a  little  fellar,  no  bigger  dan  my  thumb ; 
Dey  put  me  in  de  coffee  pot  and  dere  bid  me  drum.' 

My  manomy's  got  de  bery  coffee  pot  now—  makes  her  tea 
in  it  ebery  night  — and  if  I  hadn't  a  been  bigger'n  four- 
pence  I'd  done  got  loss  in  de  nose  ob  it ;  "  and  he  looked 
up  in  her  face  A^dth  an  earnest  air,  as  if  sui-e  she  must  be 
com-inced  by  this  lucid  argument. 

»  O  you  monkey,  what  shall  I  do  ^^•ith  you  ?  "  said  Mrs. 
Warner,  when  their  laughter  had  subsided. 

"  I  ain't  a  monkey,"  said  Gus,  pouting  Hs  lips,  as  if  he 
felt  very  much  slandered. 

"  What  are  you,  then  ?     You  act  like  one,"  said  Helen. 

"  I  don't,  nudder;'  replied  he  ;  "  monkeys  is  lazy,  and 

keep  dere  mouth    shut,  and   pertends    dey    don't   know 

nothin,  case  dey's  scare,  fear  wHte  folks  make  'em  work. 

Now,  Miss  Helen,  I  aiu  t  dat  lazy  ;  I  works." 

"You   work!"    exclaimed    Mrs.  Warner,    "I    should 
like  to  know  what  you  can  do  ?  " 

"  O,  I'se  done  did  heaps  !     I  sees  tcr  cbcry  ting  'bout 

de  house." 

"1  give  you  credit  for  telling  the  truth  there,"  replied 


THE     COURT     FOOL.  67 

his  mistress.  "  You  do  see  to  things  surely.  I  don't 
think  any  thing  can  be  done  in  the  house,  or  out  of  it, 
without  your  knowledge,  you  little  Paul  Pry." 

"  Miss  all  de  time  callin  Gus  names  —  ebery  body  is," 
said  the  child,  rolling  up  his  eyes  and  sighing  with  the 
air  of  a  martyr. 

"  Well  —  go  away  now  with  your  nonsense,"  said 
Mrs.  Warner,  laughing  again ;  and  obedient  to  the  word 
Gus  sprang  to  his  feet  and  dropped  out  of  the  window  so 
lightly  and  quickly  that  one  could  hardly  tell  whether  he 
went  up  or  down,  but  in  an  instant  he  reappeared,  climb- 
ing a  magnolia  tree,  that  stood  at  a  little  distance  :  its 
brown  trunk  was  densely  covered  with  ivy,  whose  twist- 
ing vines  afforded  a  ladder,  uji  A\'hich  the  agile  boy  ran 
swiftly,  pausing  now  and  then  to  imitate  the  various  noises 
which  a  mocking  bird  was  amusing  himself  by  making, 
as  he  sat  perched  on  the  topmost  bough. 

Mrs.  Warner  suspended  her  work  to  look  after  the  boy, 
and  her  face  had  the  expression  with  which  one  watches 
the  gambols  of  a  pet  animal.  It  was  thus  she  regarded 
him.  Such  pets  are  often  foiuid  in  southern  families,  and 
supply  to  our  republican  aristocrats  the  place  left  vacant 
by  the  court  jesters  of  the  ancient  regime. 

"  That  boy  has  a  wonderful  genius  for  climbing,  and 
develops  powers  of  imitation  that  arc  marvellous.  I  tell 
Mr.  Warner  that  when  he  gets  too  large  to  be  played 
■with  —  if  that  time  ever  comes  —  we  can  let  him  go  to 


68  CASTE. 

some  circus  rider,  for  he  certainly  will  never  be  fit  for 
any  tiling  else." 

So  said  the  lady,  carelessly,  as  she  turned  back  to  her 
cutting,  and  then  added,  in  a  kindly  voice,  — 

"  I  have  a  hundred  questions  to  ask  you  about  your 
visit  home,  and  your  brother,  and  his  pretty  bride." 

"  I  have  one  question  to  ask  you  first,"  replied  Helen, 
suddenly  recurring  to  the  subject  which  had  puzzled  her 
the  previous  day.  "  Do  tell  me  what  sort  of  a  man  is 
Colonel  Bell?" 

"  Have  you  never  seen  him  r  O,  no,  I  remember  now 
—  he  has  been  absent  most  of  the  time  for  the  last  two 
years,  and  when  at  home  he  went  very  little  into  society  ; 
and  you  have  never  been  invited  there." 

"  No,"  replied  Helen,  with  a  curling  lip,  "  Mrs.  Bell 
does  not  condescend  so  far." 

"  I  wonder  what  does  make  the  colonel  stay  away  from 
home  so  much,  lately.  Can  it  be  true  that  they  don't 
live  happily  together,"  pursued  Mrs.  Warner,  without 
seeming  to  heed  this  interruption. 

"  Happily  !  "  ejaculated  Helen  ;  "  I'd  as  soon  import 
an  iceberg  from  the  north  pole  to  sit  by  my  fireside  — 
nay,  sooner  ;  for  that  would  melt  imder  a  proper  degree 
of  heat,  but  I  don't  beliovc  she  would." 

"  It  is  said  she  can  flash  and  glow  with  a  very  uncom- 
fortable kind  of  fire,"  replied  Mrs.  Warner,  laughing-. 

"  Ojthat  is  but  a  fitful,  meteoric  light,  befitting  an  ice- 


S  A  K  A  H     A  N  D     H  A  O  A  R  .  69 

berg.      It   frightens    instead   of   warming    and    cheering 

one." 

"  And  sometimes,  I    reckon,  it  strikes  like  the  light- 
ning," added  Mrs.  Warner. 

"Yes,  on  the  defenceless  I  dare  say  it  does.     But  we 
are  getting  quite  too  grand  and  fanciful  over  a  bad  tem- 
per.    I  want  to  know  about  Colonel  Bell." 
"  What  about  him  ?  " 

"  Who  is  he,  and  who  was  he  ?     Tell  me  something 
of  his  history." 

"  He  cultivates  Ms  patrimonial  acres,  and  rejoices  in 
lus  wealth.  He  is  of  very  good  family  —  indeed,  I  believe 
his  mother  was  connected  with  some  noble  English  family. 
They  arc  descendants  of  the  old  Cavaliers,  as  many  of  our 
first  families  are  ;  I  never  knew  him  very  intimately.  He 
married  his  first  wife  in  Alabama,  and  she  left  him  some 
immense  plantations  there,  when  she  died.  Poor  woman 
—  they  said  she  died  of  a  broken  heart." 
"  Was  he  unkind  to  her  ?  " 

"  It  was  owing  to  that  one  thing  which  makes  so  many 
unhappy  families  among  us.  He  became  bewitched  with 
a  handsome  quadroon,  and  there  was  no  more  peace  in 
that  household." 

"  Was  the  woman  in  his  own  family  ?  " 
"  She  was  at   first  —  she  had  been  there   before   his 
marriage  —  but  Mrs.  Bell   soon   scented  her   out.     She 
wasn't  80  patient  under  the  affliction  as  some  poor  souls 


70 


are,  and  made  such  a  fuss  that  the  Avhole  thing  came 
out." 

"  How  could  such  a  thing  be  borne ! "  exclaimed 
Helen,  indignantly. 

"  Such  things  have  to  be  borne  very  often,  and  in 
silence  too,  for  the  sake  of  the  children,  for  whom  a  wife 
desires,  of  course,  to  keep  a  father's  name  unsullied. 
Mrs.  Bell  had  no  children.  My  patience  !  "  added  she, 
snapping  her  shears  energetically,  "  it  makes  my  blood 
boil  to  think  of  some  things  I've  known ;  this  negro  race 
are  the  ruin  of  our  husbands  and  our  sons  —  artful,  un- 
principled creatures." 

"  My  dear  friend,  you  certainly  don't  think  they  arc 
wholly  to  blame,"  said  Helen,  whose  love  of  justice 
rebelled  against  this  sweeping  censure. 

"  It  is  hard  to  tell  who  is  most  to  blame  :  they  are 
ignorant,  and  —  well  —  yes,  I  suppose  a  good  many  of 
them  would  be  virtuous  if  they  could.  But  society  is 
getting  into  a  shocking  state  ;  and  when  I  think  of  that 
side  of  the  subject  I  am  almost  tempted  to  be  an  abo- 
litionist myself.  Not  but  what  I  think  slavery  is  good 
enough  for  the  negroes  —  no  doubt  they  are  better  off 
for  it  —  but  it  is  hard  that  wc  must  be  sacrificed  for 
their  good." 

"  But  Colonel  Bell  —  what  did  he  do  ?  " 

"  Would  you  believe  it  ?  —  he  sent  the  girl  away  to  a 
small    cottage  on  another  plantation,  and  though   I    do 


THE     B  O  N  D  AV  O  M  A  X  '  S     EXODUS.  71 

really  believe  he  tried  to  beliave  himself  for  a  while,  he 
finally  deserted  his  wife  altogether,  and  used  to  spend  his 
time  partly  in  travelling,  and  partly  with  that  girl. 
There  were  several  years  he  didn't  come  home  at  all, 
except  for  a  few  days,  when  business  made  it  unavoidable. 
He  was  quite  young,  not  more  than  twenty,  when  he  was 
married,  and  his  ^^ife  was  older  than  he,  and  really  not 
a  very  interesting  woman ;  but  he  treated  her  shame- 
fully." 

"What  w^as  the  end  of  it?"  asked  Helen,  as  she 
paused. 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Bell  lived  there  alone,  and  bore  her  sor- 
rows as  she  could,  until  at  last  the  girl  died,  and  he  came 
home,  almost  crazy  with  grief;  for,  wicked  as  it  was,  he 
evidently  loved  her  with  all  his  heart  and  soul." 

"  And  his  wife  —  what  did  she  do  then  ?  " 

"  It  was  the  greatest  instance  I  ever  knew  of  woman's 
proverbial  soft-hearted  forgiveness  of  injuries.  They 
said  she  thought  it  was  her  duty.  Butij,  indeed  !  —  as  if 
it  could  be  dutj'  to  forgive  such  things !  " 

"  The  poet  says,  — 

'  Hell  hath  no  fury  like  a  woman  scorn&l ; ' 

but  all  women  scorned  arc  not  furies.  Only  think  what 
Mrs.  Bell  must  have  suffered  from  desertion,  if  she  loved 
her  husband  so  well  that  she  could  forgive  him,"  said 
Helen,  in  tones  of  pity. 


72  CASTE. 

"  I  don't  understand  any  tiling  about  such  love,"  said 
Mrs.  Warner,  tearing  a  i^iece  of  flannel  \-iolently.  "  I"d 
have  gone  to  the  cottage,  —  they  say  he  fitted  it  up  like  a 
palace  in  miniature,  —  and  I'd  have  stabbed  her,  and 
choked  the  children,  and  then  taken  my  husband  off  home, 
and  made  him  behave  himself." 

Helen  smiled,  and  then  suddenly  a  thought  flashed 
through  her  brain,  which  made  her  whole  frame  quiver  as 
with  a  tAvinge  of  nervous  pain,  and  she  started  forward, 
exclaiming,  "  Did  you  say  they  had  children  ?  " 

"  They  had  one,  but  it  died  before  its  mother  did.  My 
husband  says  he  has  seen  the  place  where  they  are  buried. 
Colonel  Bell  put  a  white  marble  monument  over  them. 
There  were  no  bounds  to  his  extravagant  passion  for  that 

girl." 

"  And  his  wife  forgave  it  all  !  How  she  must  have  loved 
him  !  "  said  Helen,  musingly,  as  the  color  slowly  came 
back  to  her  face,  which  had  been  so  white  for  a  moment. 

"  She  had  become  religious,  while  she  was  living  there 
alone,  and  joined  the  Methodist  church  ;  and  I  suppose 
it  was  partly  a  sense  of  duty  that  induced  her  to  forgive  ; 
but  then  she  cHd  almost  idolize  him.  Poor  woman,  she 
only  lived  two  years  after." 

"  How  long  after  her  death  was  it  he  married  his  pres- 
ent wife  ?  " 

"  O,  a  good  many  years.  I  wondered  a  little  that  her 
mother  was  so  much  pleased  with  the  match,  even  then, 
for  she  knew  all  his  past  history.* 


B  II  0  T  II  E  R     AND     SISTER.  73 

"  I  imagine  Miss  Clara  and  her  father  arranged  that 
matcli,"  said  Helen.  "  I  have  heard  something  about  the 
circumstances  from  !Mrs.  Avenel."' 

"  Clara  and  her  father  quarrelled  with  young  Avenel,  I 
believe,  on  account  of  his  foolish  antislavcry  notions," 
said  Mrs.  Warner. 

"  They  treated  him  most  cruelly,"  replied  Helen.  "His 
father  relented  at  last,  but  you  know  he  was  ill  only  a 
few  hours,  and  Mrs.  Bell  refused  to  give  up  the  property 
which  had  been  left  her,  thovigh  her  mother  says  she  is 
sure  the  will  would  have  been  changed,  if  their  father  had 
lived  an  hour  longer.  Fortunately,  he  does  not  need  the 
wealth  she  withholds  so  unjustly.  Ilis  home  is  a  perfect 
paradise,  and  their  present  happiness  repays  them  for  all 
past  trials.  He  is  totally  unlike  his  sister,  for  his  gen- 
erosity is  only  bounded  by  the  length  of  his  purse. 

"  And  she  is  totally  selfish,"  said  Mrs.  Wai-ner.  "  Her 
marriage  was  thought  to  be  wholly  from  mercenary  mo- 
tives. Colonel  Bell  is  many  years  older  than  she  is,  and 
there  has  never  seemed  to  be  much  sympathy  between 
them.  She  was  a  very  brilliant  girl,  and  fond  of  society, 
and  he  is  quite  the  reverse."  Then,  after  a  pause,  she 
added,  "  How  happened  you  to  think  of  asking  me  about 
Colonel  Bell  ?     Have  you  met  him  ?  " 

"  He  was  on  the  boat  with  me,  coming  from  Wilming- 
ton, and  something  in  liis  appearance  attracted  my  atten- 
tion." 

7 


74  CASTE. 

"  He  is  very  much  changed  since  the  days  I  spoke  of. 
He  was  very  handsome  then,  and  very  animated  and  bril- 
liant ;  but  of  late  years,  he  has  grown  so  quiet  and  grave 
that  I  can  hardly  believe  he  is  the  same  person." 

"  I  didu"t  know  him,  of  course,  until  Mr.  Hubert  told 
me  his  name,"  said  Helen. 

"Who  honors  Mr.  Hubert  by  talking  about  him?" 
interrupted  a  pleasant  voice  outside  the  window.  "  Ah, 
Miss  Helen,  it  is  here  you  have  hidden,  behind  my  portly 
mamma  and  her  immense  work  basket ;  which  are  cer- 
tainly some  relation  to  Solomon's  three  monsters,  that 
continually  cry,  '  Give,  give.'  " 

"  They  would  fulfil  their  mission  better,  if  they  cried, 
'  Take,  take,'  said  Mrs.  Warnei-,  cheerfully,  "  for,  not- 
withstanding your  sneer  at  them,  mamma  and  her  work 
baskets  are  quite  necessary  to  the  comfort  of  a  good  many 
about  the  place." 

"  Did  I  sneer  r  "  exclaimed  her  son  ;  "  did  I  even  seem 
to  sneer  ?  No,  mamma,  I  respect  you  and  your  baskets, 
as  '  wisest,  discreetest,  best,'  beyond  all  that  orators  have 
said  and  poets  sung,  and  I  only  ask  that  you  won't  cn- 
th-ely  hide  away,  and  bury  Miss  Holen,  when  I  am  looking 
for  her,  as  now,  to  go  with  me.  For  I  have  sought  her 
all  through  the  house,  to  come  and  sec  a  fine  collection 
of  yellow  roses,  which  have  opened  for  the  first  time  this 
morning,  in  the  garden." 

"  I  cannot  go,  for  I  am  engaged  with  the  children.     It 


AN     IMPUDENT     CHATTEL.  75 

is  time  we  were  at  study  now,''  said  Helen,  gently,  but 
with  evident  coldness. 

He  looked  at  her  a  moment,  with  a  puzzled  air,  and 
then  replied,  "  But  they  are  not  here  ;  and  I  will  detain 
you  only  a  few  moments.     Can't  you  come  ?  " 

"  They  will  be  here  in  a  moment ;  I  hear  their  voices," 
said  Helen,  glad  to  find  she  had  so  good  an  excuse  for 
avoiding  a  tete-d-tete  ;  and  as  she  spoke,  the  door  opened, 
and  Emma  and  Angle  ran  in,  followed  by  Aunt  Ann,  who 
simply  said,  in  very  gruff  tones,  "  It's  done  did  now  for 
ye,"  and  stamped  out  of  the  room,  slamming  the  door 
after  her. 

Mrs.  Warner's  face  flushed,  and  she  half  tiu-ned  to  the 
door,  as  if  to  recall  her  servant ;  but  upon  a  second 
thought,  turned  back  again,  saying  carelessly,  — 

"  I  think  I  must  have  a  talk  with  Aunt  Ann;  she  has 
been  cross  long  enough  for  this  time,  and  she  is  getting  a 
little  too  impudent." 

"  It  is  fortunate  she  is  generally  so  good-natured,"  said 
Hubert,  "  for  when  she  does  get  'riled,  she  is  the  most 
impudent  nigger  on  the  place.  I  went  to  the  school  room 
where  she  was,  just  now,  to  inquire  for  Miss  Helen,  and 
she  told  me  to  go  look  for  her  myself,  if  I  wanted  her,  — 
as  of  course  I  do''  he  added  sotto  voce,  w;ith  a^jcoeaning 
glance.  -      r      j      -a     .• 


"  Whv,  to  tell  the  truth.  I  have  been^,  cross  mth  her, 
and  we  have  all  been  dissatisfied  together.     Her  brother 


7g  CASTE. 

Jotn,  our  coachman,  thinks  he  is  very  much  abused  be- 
cause Mr.  Warner  would  not  sell  him  his  freedom.  He 
Avants  to  follow  his  wife  and  children,  who  have  gone  off 
with  our  neighbors,  the  Mcllens,  who  have  recently  moved 
to  Texas.  It  was  rather  hard  for  him,  and  we  offered  to 
buy  the  woman  and  the  youngest  child,  when  we  found 
how  he  felt  about  it,  for  we  could  not  think  of  letting 
him  go,  it  is  so  important  to  have  a  coachman  one  can 
trust,  and  he  is  such  a  faithful  fellow.  But  Mr.  Mellen 
wouldn't  sell  the  wife,  and  so  they  were  separated." 

"  Poor  fellow,"  said  Helen,  "  no  wonder  he  felt  badly 
about  it.     No  doubt  he  was  very  fond  of  her." 

"  Perhaps  he  was  ;  and  I  didn't  wonder  that  he  looked 
blue  for  a  while,  but  he  has  gone  beyond  all  reason  about 
it,  and  so  has  his  sister.  They  have  scolded  and  sulked, 
till  I  am  out  of  all  patience.  He  ought  to  remember  how 
much  trouble  it  would  be  for  us  to  get  a  coachman  as 
good  as  he  is  ;  and  then,  too,  one  would  think  he  would 
Avant  to  stay  with  us,  for  he  was  raised  on  this  place,  and 
we  have  always  treated  him  in  the  kindest  manner.  I 
promised  him  he  should  have  his  freedom,  if  he  would 
only  be  contented  to  stay  here  as  long  as  I  lived,  and  he 
had  the  impudence  to  tell  me  he  didn't  rcckoTi  it  would 
do  him  much  good  if  he  waited  for  me  to  die.  I  was 
provoked  at  that,  and  told  him  if  I  had  any  more  trouble 
Avith  him,  he  should  have  something  worth  fretting  about. 
How  annoying  such  things  are  !  " 


THE     X  E  AV     S  V  R  C;  E  R  Y  .  77 

oi  bib  r'irh  zs  -fhotx".  zr^d  c:;  /nosa  .jOXI  hlb  i-^ai:di  tisdT 

"  Sqme  of  ixiy  friends  Avould  sav  this  was  one  of  the 
^n^  -pq-ri^;^  a  rii^r:  fR-rr  Torrvj?  f^  .r.-iJC  -\rr  !.';c  :  \'..i::is'i  '^".d 
evils  insenarable  froni  the  system,"  Helen  bejajan  to  say, 

but  ]Mrs.  .Warner  interrupted   her,  in  a  tone  half  chiding 

and  half  ffOQd-natured,  — 

''  Don  t  begin  to  talk  in  that  way,  I  beg.     You  know 

):'-.■■:  r-r.-':  ;o:;  7a:;;^■:T0■;  '.sv/-  .n-inv^    :-r\;VM-?  ■^id'.   !/■■/:•     ■:'ir-: 

you  are  not  aia  abolitionist ;  so.  don't  pr.etend  to.  be.     We 

.''vyn.'iZ   '.■>  •"■.  i:'  j-.n-.)  ■^'i)  '  .-.  <■     j.-r/--,-  ■  /■    :■■    ■■  ;;',. 

n\ust  take,  things  as  we  ^nd  them,  ^ind.  make  the  best,  of 

it.     Jo^n  Avill,  bs  sober  till  he  takes  a  new  Avife,  and  Ann 


nnrj^- 


will^be  cross  because  her  brother  is  sober ;  but  when  it  is 
oyer,  I'll  make  .ea^h  of  them  a  handsome  present,  and  that 
wpl  smooth  irnatters  so  they'll  grow  pleasant  again.  I 
never  shall  think  so  much  qf  John  as  I  have,  but  I  shan't 

r'fl    "•; '    ;      ;    -.;.:    ;••'--,-::  "'■       .':      ■.      ■  - :       -  -    ■■-'       ■..■; 

let  him  Jjnow.it,  an4  we  shall  iog  on  as  easily  as  ever." 

"That's  it,  mpthei'»"  said  Hubert;  "you've  expressed 

-9';q  hi;;.--)  ^^■^^l!:■~::i  r;T  ':.■"■  -..---  -:■■.'  ■■!'■■■'  ■'■••;-- 
it  exaqtly ;  and  a  gooji  sound  philospphy  it  is  we,  act  upon 

in  this  regipn.     Don't  remove  the  cause  of  the  disease, 

but  put  on  a.,  plaster  that  A\ill  heal  oyer  the  outside  of  the 

j"'::5.;r-:ro;n"  •■•il':!  ;;,-.'  :..;  v/ohcr;^  ^t.:  :.  "■_■■:-:_,  ^  .-.,- 
wound,  and,,np  naatter  how  iij^uch  the  splinter,  festers  and 

rankles. within.,  send  away  the  doctor  and  his  probes!  — 

■■■*  ^-■■-;-:--T  ^'L'  ■:  i  -•\r-'rrr;'  onT  Ion  r,r>\-^  r.r-:  .-rrr::;  r  = 
we  don't  need  them  !     Isn't  that  what,  you  say  ?  '* 

"  I.  say  you  are   a   saupy  boy^  anpl  had  better  try  and 

le^n  manners,"  replied  hjs  mpther,  menacing  him  w^ith  a 

.savage  snap  of  her  shcvii^s.     ^he  was  np  philosopher,  and 

now  that   her  momentary  vexatio;i  had  spent  itself,  his 

words  fell  lightly  on  lier  car,  and  she  began  cheerfully 

talking  with  him  about  something  else,  in  which  Helen 

joined,  after  a  few  moments  of  thoughtful  silence. 


78  C  A  S  I  E  . 

These  things  did  not  seem  to  her  exactly  as  they  did  to 
her  friends ;  but  yet  ]\Irs.  Warner  was  right  in  saying  she 
was  not  an  abolitionist.  She  was  educated  by  persons 
whose  feelings  had  never  been  enlisted  on  this  vexed 
question,  and  she  held  no  definite  opinions  about  it  when 
she  entered  this  family  ;  which  was  certainly  not  the  best 
place  in  the  world  to  see  the  dark  side  of  slavery. 

Every  thing  seemed  so  orderly  and  cheerful,  and  the 
proprietors  of  these  human  beings  seemed  to  take  such 
real  interest  in  them,  and  such  unwearied  care  of  them, 
and  there  was  so  much  to  amuse  and  interest  in  the 
development  of  negro  character,  that,  at  first  sight,  she 
was  completely  fascinated.  By  degrees  the  illusion  had 
been  wearing  away.  She  was  too  clear-sighted  not  to 
perceive  there  were  evils  that  no  kindness  could  pre- 
vent, and  sorrows  which  seemed  deeper  and  darker  for 
the  very  pains  taken  to  overcome  them ;  but  she  was 
yet  a  dweller  in  the  shadow  of  that  lofty  mountain 
range  of  ifs,  which  hides  the  fair  land  of  freedom  from 
so  many,  who  have  not  the  courage  or  the  patience  to 
climb  their  rugged  sides. 

After  a  little  while  the  children  grew  tired  of  listen- 
ing to  the  conversation  of  their  elders,  and  drew  Helen 
away  to  the  school  room.  A  sudden  recollection  arrested 
her  as  she  stood  in  the  doorway,  and  she  turned  back 
to  say, — 

"  I  meant  to  tell  you,  when  you  were  speaking  of  Colonel 


T  H  E     M  A  T  C  H     M  A  K  E  R  .  79 

Bell,  that  he  evidently  knew  me  before  I  met  him,  when 
we  were  on  the  boat.  He  seemed  to  know  my  past 
history  too.     How  do  you  account  for  that  ?  " 

"  Easily  enough,"  replied  Mrs.  Warner  ;  "  for  one  day, 
Avhen  I  visited  there,  ]Mrs.  Bell  inquired  something  about 
you,  and  I  spoke  of  you  and  your  brother.  The  colonel 
was  present,  and  might  have  heard  us,  or  she  might  have 
told  him  afterwards." 

"  True,"  said  Helen.  "  How  strange  that  I  did  not 
think  of  it  before  !  "  And  she  closed  the  door  and  went 
away  quite  satisfied. 

Mrs.  Warner  Avent  on,  gathering  into  bundles  the  work 
she  had  been  cutting  ;  and  her  son,  after  a  few  turns  on 
the  piazza,  lighted  a  cigar,  and  stretched  himself  on  a 
bench  under  the  window,  with  his  head  at  an  angle  that 
commanded  a  view  of  the  interior  of  the  room ;  he  re- 
mained for  some  time  silent,  and  looking  very  much  at 
his  ease. 

His  mother  watched  him  a  while,  in  the  pauses  of  her 
work,  as  the  servants  came  and  went,  receiving  orders 
and  giving  messages  ;  and  at  length,  when  they  were 
again  alone,  she  said  abruptly,  — 

"  What  are  you  waiting  for  ?     AVhy  don't  you  speak  ?  " 

He  started  slightly,  and  after  gazing  at  her  a  few  mo- 
ments from  the  corners  of  his  eyes,  removed  the  cigar 
from  his  lips  and  ejaculated,  — 

"  Who  ?  " 


80  CASTE. 

Mrs.  Warner  replied  by  gi'^ing  a  'tois  of  tlie  Mad 
towards  the  corner  of  the  house  used  as  a  school  room, 
and  then  added, —  '     -  ' ''  '        '   '    '•';"'■*" 

"In  my  time  men  did  'not''^^sialid''^My-sharlyihg  so 
long." 

Her  son  puffed  a,  while  in  siifeiice,'  and  then  replied,' -^ 

"  I  am  not  mipmsive.         ,.  .-,         ■  f  . 

"Impulsive!  that  you  never  were; '  and'  T  "begin' to 
think  you  are  not  viery  much  in  earnest." 

*' Then  you  are  mistaken,"  replied  he  with  more 
warmth  ;  "  but  to  tell  the  truth  I  am  afraid  of  her.  "S^Hien 
I  get  within  a  certain  distance  she  holds  me  off,  Avith  a 
power  as  invisible  as  it  is  invincible. 

"  She  wouldn't  be  worth  asking  for,  if  she  did  not," 
returned  Mrs.  Warner.  "What  I  particularly  like  in 
Helen  is,  her  pride  and  her  independence.  But  you  act 
like  a  man  that  don't  know  his  own  mind." 

"  Don't  slander  me,  mother.  If  I  was  a  little  less  de- 
cided I  might  do  better  ;  but  I  am  not  the  man  to  say 
'Will  you?'  more  than  once,  to  any  woman;  and  being 
undecided  what  she  will  say,  and  tolerably  sure  that  a 
negative  would  make  me  feci  like  patronizing  the  first 
railroad  accident,  or  steamboat  explosion,  or  any  other 
speedy  and  genteel  method  of  shuffling  off  this  mortal 
coil,  I  have  been  waiting  — —  " 

"  Like  a  coward  !  Fie,  for  shame  !  "  interrupted  his 
mother,  laughing.     "  You  know  the  old  verse,  — 


"LENOIR     FAINEANT."  81 

'  Either  his  courage  is  but  slight,  or  his  deserts  arc  small ; 
Who  Clares  not  bolcUy  tell  his  love,  he  does  not  love  at  all.'" 

"  I  know.  Seems  to  me,  mamma,  this  is  a  new  trade 
you're  taking  np  —  tWs  trade  of  match  making  !  " 

"  Ungrateful  hoy  !  You  will  find  me  a  match  breaker, 
if  you  don't  take  care.  I  am  not  going  to  have  my  pro- 
tegee played  with  and  teased,  to  suit  your  laziness." 

"  Play  !  It  is  real  sober  earnest  to  me,  whatever  it 
may  be  to  you,  indifferent  spectators,  or  to  Miss  Helen, 
Avho  alternately  chills  and  fires  me.  But  I  have  my  re- 
venge, nevertheless,  I  enjoy  this  state  of  things,  strange 
as  it  may  appear.  I  am  not  like  '  Billy  the  Greedy,'  in 
the  story  books,  who  ate  his  cake  all  at  once.  I  like 
this  sfuspense  that  is  half  hope  and  half  fear.  I  like  to 
study  her  character,  and  peep  covertly  into  the  pages  of  that 
fresh  young  heart,  which  is  so  slyly,  sometimes  so  uncon- 
sciously, opened  for  my  inspection.  I  am  so  much  older 
than  she,  and  so  much  more  hackneyed  in  the  ways  of  the 
world,  you  can't  tliink  how  she  charms  me  with  her  guile- 
less nature.  So  impassioned  and  yet  so  easily  chilled,  so 
full  of  poetry,  and  yet  not  repelled  by  the  plainest  com- 
mon sense.  I  declare  I  am  getting  poetical  over  it  my- 
self," he  added,  suddenly  changing  his  tone.  "We 
have  been  having  quite  a  sentimental  conversation  for  two 
old  folks,  mamma.  Please  hand  me  another  cigar  from 
the  closet." 

"  Sentimental,  indeed  !  you  have  no  more  heart  than  a 


82 


CASTE. 


pufF  hall,  and  Til  tell  Helen  I  think  so  too,"  said  his 
mother,  jnilling  his  whiskers  as  she  put  the  cigar  between 
his  lips. 

"  O,  don't !  please/'  he  exclaimed,  making  up  a  wry 
face,  and  sauntering  slowly  away  as  the  two  seamstresses 
entered  the  room  and  seated  themselves  to  work. 


CHAPTER   FIFTH. 


"  A  pathway,  like  as  a  thoroughfare. 
Printed  all  over  confusedly, 
As  thousands  of  thousands  had  gone  by, 
The  foot  of  the  child  in  the  step  of  the  old ; 
The  print  of  the  timid,  the  wai'y,  the  hold." 


Two  or  three  days  passed,  during  which  Helen  studi- 
ously avoided  Mr.  Hubert ;  and  when  they  chanced  to 
meet  she  was  so  politely  indifferent  that,  though  he  ex- 
erted himself  to  an  unusual  degree,  he  failed  to  elicit  the 
least  manifestation  of  interest  in  himself  or  his  conver- 
sation, or  to  call  forth  one  of  those  impassioned  bursts 
of  feeling  which  were  wont  to  throw  her  off  her  guard, 
and  give  his  cooler  temperament  the  power  to  sway  her 
according  to  his  will. 

This  was  not  acting  —  if  it  had  been  he  would  have 
smiled  at  it,  as  a  pretty  little  feminine  wile  ;  for  his  calm, 
clear  gaze  not  even  love  could  blind.  He  heard  her 
quick,  clastic  tread  through  the  halls  and  piazzas,  her 
frolics  with  the  children,  her  merry  voice  in  converse  with 
his  mother,  and  the  gushing  tones  of  her  melody  as  she 
sang  to  his  father  ;  he  saw  her  gay,  cordial,  fascinating  as 
ever,  apparently  untouched  by  any  secret  discontent,  and 

(83) 


84  CASTE. 

unchanged  to  all  but  liim.  Startled  put  of  his  indolence, 
he  began  to  regard  her  less  as  an  interesting  psychological 
study,  and  was  conscious  of  a  nervous  anxiety  and  rest- 
lessness that  every  day  rendered  him  more  unable  to  con- 
trol either  himself  or  her. 

He  had  taken  a  certain  delight  —  the  Sybarite  —  in 
gazing  at  this  luscious  fruit,  and  calculatiiig  the  degree 
of  force  he  must  exert  to  reach  it  and  make  it  his  own  ; 
but  now  an  unseen  hand  seemed  slowly  drawing  it  beyond 
his  grasp.  He  had  taken  pride  in  his  power  over  her  ; 
and  now  he  awoke  in  astonishment  to  find  that  power 
gone. 

For  it  M-as  gone.  She  thought  he  had  been  mocking 
her  —  amusing  himself  Avith  her  most  sacred  feelings  and 
most  cherished  thoughts  ;  winning  her  to  open  her  heart 
to  his  gaze,  careless  whether  its  bloom  and  its  fragrance 
might  not  exhale  in  that  exposure,  like  the  strange, 
delicate  flower,  which  grows  snow  white  in  the  dense 
shadow  of  the  forest,  but  loses  its  purity  and  beauty  if 
any  hand  parts  the  boughs  above  to  let  in  the  sunlight. 
Her  pride  and  dignity  revolted  against  such  treatment, 
and  the  reaction  of  feeling  filled  her  with  a  singular 
calmness,  so  that  his  voice,  his  glance,  his  touch  could  no 
longer  thrill  her  nerves  or  excite  any  mental  emotion. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  third  day  Ishs.  Avcnel,  who 
lived  four  miles  away,  drove  over  to  see  Helen  and  hear 
from  her  of  the  welfare  of  her    children  at  the   north. 


MATE     AND     CHECKMATE.  85 

When  she  went  away,  she  invited  Helen  to  go  home  with 
her,  and  spend  the  next  day  ;  and,  as  the  evening  was  fine, 
she  consented.  As  she  was  going  to  get  her  bonnet,  Hu- 
bert remarked  to  jNIrs.  Avenel,  — 

"  You  need  not  send  Miss  Helen  home  to-morrow,  for 
I  will  do  myself  the  honor  to  come  and  escort  her." 

Helen  overheard  him,  through  the  half-open  door,  and 
beckoning  little  Emma  from  her  play  on  the  piazza,  sent 
her  to  ask  her  grandmother  for  permission  to  go  with  her. 
Mrs.  Avenel  eagerly  seconded  the  request,  and  Helen  re- 
appearing, shawled  and  bonneted,  added  her  voice,  and 
the  permission  was  given.  Mrs.  Warner  was  highly 
amused  by  this  manoeuvre,  Avhich  she  understood  quite 
well ;  but  her  son  was  not  a  little  vexed,  and  as  he  helped 
the  ladies  into  the  carriage,  he  said,  in  no  very  amiable 
tone,  "  I  hope  you  will  find  Emma  less  trouble  than  she 
usually  is.  These  children  are  indulged  entii-ely  too 
much." 

Mrs.  Avenel  smiled,  and  said  something  about  "  bach- 
elors' children,"  and  with  Helen's  light  laugh  ringing  in 
his  ear,  he  watched  the  carriage  drive  away. 

Helen's  visit  to  the  Pines  (for  so  Mrs.  Avenel's  place 
was  named)  passed  very  pleasantly  and  quickly ;  and  in 
the  afternoon,  just  as  they  were  expecting  Hubert  to  take 
them  home,  a  carriage  came  driving  in  great  style  around 
the  curving  avenue,  and  drew  up  before  the  front  door. 

"It  is  uncle  Hubert,"  little  Emma  exclaimed,  when 
8 


86  CASTE. 

she  first  heard  the  sound  of  wheels  ;  but  she  drew  back 
with  a  child's  shyness,  when  she  saw  the  splendid  equi- 
page, and  Mrs.  Avenel  said,  with  a  flurried  look,  "  It  is 
the  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Bell." 

The  gentle  little  widow  went  forward  with  some  trepi- 
dation to  meet  her  magnificent  daughter.  She  was  sen- 
sitive and  easily  disturbed  by  any  contretemps,  and  she 
knew  Clara  did  not  like  Helen,  and  was  not  quite  sure 
how  the  colonel  woidd  meet  her.  But  the  colonel,  ordi- 
narily so  reserved  and  silent,  was,  on  this  occasion,  affable 
and  even  talkative.  Perhaps  he  noticed  the  haughty  nod, 
which  was  all  the  salutation  his  wfe  vouchsafed  Helen, 
and  which,  to  tell  the  truth,  was  met  by  an  inclination 
that  might  have  befitted  an  empress  ;  for  Miss  Helen  had 
both  pride  and  temper  of  her  own ;  perhaps  he  saw  Mrs. 
Avenel's  anxious  glance,  and  wished  to  relieve  it.  How- 
ever this  may  be,  he  was  so  friendly  to  his  mother-in-law, 
so  polite  to  her  visitor,  and  so  caressing  to  the  cliild,  that 
his  wife  stared  at  him  with  unfeigned  astonishment,  and 
the  others  were  entertained  and  delighted.  He  did  not 
at  first  allude  to  their  meeting  on  the  boat,  and  therefore 
Helen  was  silent  about  it ;  but  in  the  course  of  conversa- 
tion, he  spoke  of  it  to  Mrs.  Avenel,  and  added,  "  Have 
you  ever  thought  that  Miss  Helen  very  much  resembles 
some  of  my  family  ?  " 

Mrs.  Avenel  looked,  and  shook  her  head  negatively. 

"I  believe   you  were    not  acquainted  with  my   elder 


AGLEAMOF     LIGHT.  87 

sister,"  he  continued,  "  for  she  was  married  before  you  were 
much,  acquainted  with  our  family.  Your  friend  reminds 
me  of  her  so  much  that  when  I  first  saw  her  I  Avas  quite 
startled." 

"  She  died  some  time  ago,  I  believe,"  said  Mrs.  Avenel. 

"  She  did.  She  was  lost  at  sea  with  her  two  children  ; 
and  if  we  had  not  received  good  evidence  of  their  death 
from  those  who  survived  the  wreck,  I  should  be  almost 
tempted  to  believe  that  this  might  be  her  child," 

"  I  am  an  orphan,  and  a  voyage  at  sea  is  among  my 
earliest  recollections,"  said  Helen,  tremiilously ;  but  Colo- 
nel Bell  did  not  seem  inclined  to  pursue  the  subject,  and 
although  Mrs.  Avenel  remarked  upon  the  coincidence,  a 
few  moments'  reflection  convinced  Helen  that  she  could 
not  be  his  sister's  child. 

As  they  rose  to  take  leave,  a  light  covered  buggy  drove 
to  the  door,  and  little  Emma  ran  out  to  meet  her  uncle, 
and  assure  him  that  she  had  been  no  trouble  at  all.  A 
few  compliments  passed  between  the  new  comer  and  the 
departing  guests,  and  then  the  colonel  and  his  Avife  en- 
tered their  carriage,  the  liveried  footman  closed  the  door, 
and  mounted  to  his  place,  and  the  swift  horses  dashed  the 
white  sand  from  beneath  their  feet,  as  they  sped  away. 

"  They  do  say,"  said  Mrs.  Bell,  leaning  forward  to  look 
at  the  group  on  the  piazza,  —  "  they  do  say  that  Hubert 
Warner  is  in  love  with  that  pert  governess.  Do  you  sup- 
pose he  can  mean  to  marry  her  r  " 


88  CASTE. 

•'  O,"  exclafined  the  colonel,  ''  I  hope  it  is  so." 

"But  do  you  suppose  he  will  marry  her?"  repeated 
the  wife. 

"  Why  not,  pray  ?  She  is  a  splendid  girl.  By  Jove,  I 
hope  he  -vvill."     And  he  looked  quite  excited  and  earnest. 

"  For  mercy  sake,  what  is  it  to  you  ?  What  do  you  care 
about  her  r  What  has  come  over  you  to-day,  colonel  ? 
I  never  saw  you  come  so  near  being  agreeable.  You 
really  talked  almost  as  well  as  common  folks." 

But  the  colonel  did  not  reply ;  and  without  seeming  to 
hear  his  lady's  sneering  words,  leaned  back  on  the  velvet 
cushions,  with  a  half  smile  on  his  lips,  apparently  absorbed 
in  pleasant  revery.  She  looked  at  him  a  few  moments 
with  an  expression  of  curiosity,  which  gradually  gave 
place  to  one  of  vexation ;  then  with  a  yawn  of  weariness 
she  turned  away,  and  neither  of  them  spoke  again  during 
their  drive  home. 

]SIeantime  Helen  and  little  Emma  were  also  on  their 
way  home.  Mr.  Hubert  held  the  reins,  and  though  his 
horse  certainly  could  not  have  required  all  his  attention, 
he  did  not  seem  disposed  to  talk.  Helen,  on  the  con- 
trary, was  full  of  gaycty,  and  chatted  incessantly,  some- 
times to  him,  and  oftener  to  the  child,  whom  she  seemed 
bent  upon  amusing  with  stories  and  riddles.  When  they 
had  accomplished  more  than  half  the  distance,  Hubert 
turned  aside  from  the  main  road  into  one  of  the  Avinding 
woodland  paths. 


PERVERSITY.  *  89 

"  Where  are  you  going?  "  said  Helen.  "  Do  you  know 
this  road  ?  " 

"  Perfectly  well ;  it  will  lead  us  homeward  through  the 
pines  ;  and  now  the  sun  is  low,  it  throws  lengthened 
glances  between  the  trees,  lighting  their  dusky  recesses 
with  a  strange  beauty,  which  I  know  will  please  you." 

"  That  will  be  fine,"  said  Helen.  "  I  love  the  woods 
at  sunset." 

"  The  air  is  very  soft  and  still  to-night.  But  pray  keep 
that  chatterbox  quiet,  and  condescend  to  give  me  a  little 
notice.  Do  you  know  you  have  hardly  spoken  to  me 
since  we  started  r  " 

"  Do  hear  that,  Emma,"  said  Helen,  laughing.  "  Yo\i 
are  not  to  talk  any  more,  but  must  pay  constant  attention 
to  every  word  your  uncle  says." 

But  Hubert  did  not  lau,Li,h ;  and  when  she  turned 
towards  him,  she  met  such  a  strange  look,  so  grieved,  so 
indignant,  that  the  smile  faded  from  her  lips.  The  words 
had  evidently  vexed  or  wounded  him. 

"1  did  not  ask  the  chilcVs  attention,"  he  said,  at  length; 
"  why  do  you  continually  put  something  or  somebody 
between  you  and  me  r  Are  wc  never  to  have  any  more 
of  th  ).sa  fefr-n-fefrs  Avhich  J,  at  least,  used  to  enjoy  so 
much  ? ' " 

"  You  address  me  in  a  very  indignant  tone,"  said  Helen, 
lightly ;   "  pray  what' have  I  done,  that  I  am  to  be  scolded 


90  '  CASTE. 

SO  ?  How  can  you  have  a  heart  to  be  so  disagreeable, 
this  delightful  evening  ?  " 

"Am  I  cross?  I  beg  your  pardon.  Suppose  we 
'  make  up,'  as  the  children  say,  and  '  be  good  to  each 
other  ;  '  and  as  he  spoke,  he  turned  towards  her,  and  held 
out  his  hand.  She  gave  hers  with  instant  frankness,  but 
his  clasp  was  close  and  lingering,  and  she  was  astonished 
to  feel  his  hand  tremulous  and  icy  cold,  and  to  see  that 
his  face  was  pale,  and  his  lips  quivered.  He  was  not 
mocking  her  now.  She  felt  it,  and  her  heart  thrilled 
with  a  tumult  of  secret  joy  and  fear.  Her  eyes  sank 
beneath  his  gaze,  and  she  drew  away  her  hand.  He 
yielded  it  reluctantly,  and  for  a  long  time  neither  spoke, 
until  at  last  Emma  remarked  innocently,  that  she  did  not 
see  Avhy  she  and  Miss  Helen  could  not  talk,  if  he  did  not 
want  to ;  then  he  said,  "  Did  you  know  that  next  Friday 
is  the  time  for  me  to  leave  home,  if  I  am  to  take  the  next 
boat  for  Cuba?  " 

"  I  remen^ber  it  now,  but  I  had  forgotten  it  was  so 
soon,"  Helen  replied,  overcoming  her  embarrassment. 

"  What  if  I  should  tell  you  I  had  some  thoughts  of 
postponing  my  departure  a  fortnight  longer?  " 

"  I  should  be  glad,  if  yovir  business  does  not  require 
your  presence  ;  for  your  mother  will  be  qviite  lonely  when 
yon  are  gone,  and  I  don't  know  whom  your  father  will 
have  to  supply  your  place  as   a  political   opponent,  when 


COMING     TO     THE     POINT.  91 

he  gets  excited  over  the  newspapers.  You  are  invaluable 
in  that  department." 

"  Suppose  I  should  tell  you  it  is  not  because  of  ray 
business,  —  for  that  requires  me  immediately,  —  or  for 
any  extraordinary  filial  deA'otion,  —  though  that  might  be 
praiseworthy,  —  but  for  a  very  different  reason  I  am  tempt- 
ed to  remain  at  home.  Suppose  it  were  for  the  sake  of 
somebody  who  has  caused  me  more  disquiet  than  any 
earthly  thing,  and  I  was  conscious  the  while  that  my 
only  chance  of  safety  was  in  going  away,  and  that  a  few 
more  days  woidd  fix  my  disquiet  incurably.  What  shoidd 
you  say,  then  r  " 

"  What  are  you  talking  about,  uncle  Hubert  ?  "  ex- 
claimed little  Emma.  "  I  am  paying  all  the  attention  I 
can,  and  you  use  such  long  words  I  don't  know  what  you 
mean."' 

"  Bless  your  heart,  I  don't  mean  you  shall,"  said  Hu- 
bert ;  and  it  was  a  great  relief  to  Helen  to  laugh  with 
him  at  the  child's  naive  remark. 

"  You  have  not  given  me  your  .  opinion,"  he  urged,  a 
moment  after. 

"  If  I  must  give  it,"  replied  she,  mischievously,  "  I  A\-ill 
borrow  from  Flibcrtigibbet's  philosophy,  and  tell  you  you 
are  like  the  sapient  gentleman  whose  exploits  he  takes 
such  delight  in  recounting  ;  for  if  you  willingly  run  into 
such  awful  danger,  how  are  you  better  than  he  r  "  And 
she  sung  gayly,  — 


92  CASTE. 

"  -There  was  a  maa  in  our  town, 
And  he  was  wondrous  wise, 
lie  jumped  into  a  bramble  bush, 
And  scratched  out  both  his  eyes,' " 

prolonging  the  strain  by  extempore  trills,  and  fugues,  and 
repetitions,  which  would  have  made  Mother  Goose  open 
her  eyes  in  surprise,  as  the  clear,  birdjike  tones  were 
warbled  through  the  woods. 

Hubert  listened,  delighted ;  but  when  she  had  ceased, 
he  said  eagerly,  "  You  have  it  exactly ;  I  am  like  that 
gentleman  of  renown,  for  you  will  please  remember 
how  he  was  cured. 

'lie  jumped  into  another  bu.-h. 
And  scratched  them  in  again.' " 

"  I  understand  about  that,  and  I  can't  sing  it,  but  I  can 
say  it,"  exclaimed  Emma,  joyfully. 

"  What  a  woman  Mother  Goose  was !  I  tliink  she  must 
have  been  a  female  physician,  to  have  instituted  such  an 
active  treatment.  What  oculist  of  the  present  day  would 
dare  advise  such  a  mode  of  cure  ?  What  oimtluj  do  you 
suppose  she  professed?  "  said  Helen,  laughing. 

"  I  don"t  know,  and  care  less,"  replied  Hubert,  smiling. 
"  I  am  only  interested  in  the  fact  that  the  man  was  cured 
by  the  same  plant  which  caused  his  cruel  blindness,  for 
my  only  hope  lies  in  using  the  same  remedy.  '  SimUia 
similihus  rurantur:  Vov  the  pvcsnnt,  1  am  a  homa--opa- 
thist,  with  the  man  of  Islington."' 


HIDEAXDSEEK.  98 

"  O,  smell  the  jasmine  !  "  exclaimed  little  Emma,  clap- 
ping her  hands  as  a  faint  pufF  of  wind,  sweeping  through 
the  trees,  suddenly  filled  the  air  with  rich  odors. 

"  How  sweet  it  is  !  and,  speaking  of  bushes,  see  there 
is  a  sparkle-berry  bush,  all  covered  with  jasmine  ;  "  and 
Helen  pointed  to  a  knoll  a  short  distance  away. 

"  Will  you  take  the  reins,  while  I  go  and  get  some  for 
you  r  "  asked  Hubert. 

"  Drive  on  a  few  rods,  till  we  come  to  yonder  tree, 
where  you  can  tie  your  horse,"  Helen  replied,  "  and  I 
wUl  run  down  into  the  hollow,  by  the  spring,  and  get 
some  of  those  laurel  blossoms.  They  are  unusually 
fine." 

"  Won't  it  be  wet  there  ?     I  can  get  both  for  you." 

"  O,  no,  let  me  get  them  —  please." 

He  did  as  she  desired ;  and  with  Emma  following, 
Helen  ran  do'vs'n  to  the  spring.  It  was  in  a  deep  dell, 
with  narrow,  steep  banks,  thickly  covered  Avith  bushes, 
and  shadowed  by  a  grove  of  young  trees,  whose  bright- 
green  foliage,  tinged  with  a  golden  glory  by  the  setting 
sun,  contrasted  Ai-sidly  with  the  sombre  stateliness  of  the 
pines  around.  But  the  trees,  leaning  towards  each  other 
and  interlocking  their  branches,  made  such  deep  shadow 
in  the  dell  below,  that  the  little  stream  was  hardly  visible 
as  it  flowed  silently  along  its  worn  channel.  As  they  de- 
scended towards  it,  there  was  such  a  perceptible  change  in 
the  air  that  Helen  feared  the  child  would  take  cold,  and 


94  CASTE. 

bade  her  remain  on  the  bank  above  while  she  went  for 
the  flowers. 

Running  down  the  path,  slippery  with  sand  and  fallcji 
leaves,  she  came  to  the  spring,  where  some  provident 
hand  had  placed  a  barrel,  which  now  overflowed  with 
the  bubbling  water ;  and  a  board  across  the  brook,  a 
rude  bench,  and  a  circle  of  stones,  bearing  the  marks 
of  fire,  showed  that  some  "mauma"  or  "aunt"  had 
been  using  this  beautiful  little  temple  of  nature  for  a 
wash  kitchen. 

Using  a  large  oak  leaf  for  a  cuj"),  Plelen  tasted  the  cool, 
sweet  water,  and  then  ran  lightly  up  the  opposite  bank, 
where  a  tliick  cluster  of  laurel  bushes,  covered  with  their 
delicate  pink  blossoms,  seemed  to  cast  a  faint  light  amid 
the  shade.  She  had  picked  two  or  three  bunches  when 
she  thought  she  saw  a  slight  movement  among  the  leaves, 
and  on  parting  the  branches  to  see  what  bird  or  squirrel 
was  hiding  there,  she  encountered  two  keen,  bright  eyes, 
glowing  like  fire,  and  a  suppressed  breathing,  as  if  some 
Avild  animal  was  about  to  spring  at  her.  Sudden  terror 
deprived  her  of  the  power  to  move  or  speak ;  but  as  she 
stood  helpless  and  trembling,  fascinated  by  that  strange 
glare,  a  human  voice  faintly  pronounced  her  name,  and  a 
hard,  black  hand  stretched  imploringly  towards  hc]-. 

Somewhat  reassured  to  find  the  object  of  her  fears  as 
much  frightened  as  herself,  she  leaned  forward,  and  now 
she  saw  a  negro  crouching  among  the  thick  branches,  that 


A     F  U  G  I  T  I  V  E  .  95 

would  have  effectually  concealed  him  if  his  involuntai-y 
motion  had  not  arrested  her  attention. 

••'  Who  is  it?  — what  are  you  doing  here  ? "'  she  asked, 
somewhat  authoritatively. 

"  O,  Miss  Helen,  don't  you  know  me  ?  "  said  the  voice. 
"  I'se  Kissy's  husband  —  I'se  Michel." 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  r  We  heard  you  were 
sold  !  "  she  said,  quickly. 

"  O  miss,  don't  tell  —  for  de  good  Lord  sake  don't  — 
don't  call  any  body.  I  only  wants  to  see  my  wife,  and 
then  I'se  gwine  right  back." 

"  You  Icnow  you're  not  telling  the  truth,"  said  Helen. 
"  You  have  run  away  from  youi-  master,  or  you  would  not 
be  hiding  here." 

"  O  miss,  don't  tell  —  don't !  0,  I  beg's  you  for 
mercy!  on'y  tink  all  we  poor  niggers  has  to  bar — yer 
don't  look  like  you'd  be  so  hard  on  a  poor  feller." 

The  agony  of  his  voice  and  gesture  no  words  can  por- 
tray ;  and  Helen  hastened  to  relieve  the  fear  which  her 
momentary  asperity  had  awakened. 

"  Poor  fellovyr,"  she  said,  kindly,  "  you  need  not  be 
afraid  of  me.     But  you  are  not  safe  here." 

"  I  know  it,  miss.  I'se  ony  hidin  here  to-day,  case 
'pears  like  I  must  sec  Kissy  once  more.  When  dark 
comes,  Ise  gwine  up  dare,  and  cf  you'd  ony  tell  her  to 
meet  me  down  by  de  blast'  pine,  de  Lord  knows  how  I'd 
bless  yer." 


96  CASTE. 

"  I'll  certainly  tell  her.  But,  Michel,  you  run  a  great 
risk.  Any  one  else  might  have  found  you  as  easily  as 
I  did." 

"  I  knows  it,  miss  ;  but  if  any  body  catches  dis  chile 
arter  dis,  dey  catches  a  dead  nigger ;  "  and  he  drew  from 
his  sleeve  a  rude  weapon,  formed  apparently  of  the  point 
of  a  carving  knife,  inserted  into  a  wooden  handle,  and 
drew  it  across  his  throat,  mth  a  meaning  gesture. 

At  this  moment  they  heard  Mr.  Hubert  calling  Helen 
nearer,  and  Michel  exclaimed  in  terror,  — 

"  Go  —  O,  do  go  !  Don't  let  him  come  here,  miss,  for 
I  does  want  to  see  Kissy  once  more  'fore  I  die." 

Giving  him  one  more  assurance  that  she  would  send 
his  wife  to  meet  him,  Helen  hastened  down  the  bank, 
and  found  Hubert  at  the  spring. 

"  How  few  flowers  you  have,"  he  said,  astonished  to 
see  only  the  two  clusters  she  had  first  picked,  and  uncon- 
sciously retained. 

"  Flowers  !     O,  yes,  I  took  only  the  perfect  ones." 

"  Could  you  find  no  more  ?  I  think  I  see  some  fine 
ones  up  there  ;  shall  I  go  get  them  for  you  ?  " 

"  O,  no,  I  was  up  there  —  I  have  enough,"  said  Helen, 
hurriedly.     "  Let  lis  pick  some  nearer  home." 

"As  you  please,"  he  answered,  wondering  at  her  ex- 
cited and  abstracted  air  ;  and  then  he  added,  with  a 
manner  as  excited  as  her  own,  "  Let  me  speak  to  you 
one  word  —  only  one  word,  Helen  !  " 


IIOPJ;     DEFERKED 


97 


Bat,  as  if  she  had  not  heard  huii,  she  said  hastily, 
"  It  is  chilly  here,  and  damp  ;  let  us  return  to  the  car- 
riage." And  he  saw  that  she  shivered  all  over  and  be- 
came very  pale.  As  she  sprang  up  the  path  she  slipped 
and  nearly  fell.  He  raised  her,  and  as  he  assisted  her 
to  gain  the  level  road,  he  said,  fervently,  — 

"  I  have  a  strong  arm,  Helen ;  you  may  lean  on  it  now 
and  evermore.  It  will  support  you  over  all  the  rough 
places  of  life,  if  you  Avill  only  allow  it.     O,  Avill  you  ?  " 

But  Helen,  frightened  at  her  own  strange  joy,  and 
overcome  by  so  much  varying  excitement,  disengaged 
herself  from  his  arm,  and  leaning  against  the  trunk  of  a 
tree,  burst  into  tears. 

"  What  have  I  done  !  "  he  exclaimed  — "  what  have  I 
said  to  distress  you  ?  " 

"Don't  talk  to  me  now  —  I  am  excited  —  I  can't  un- 
derstand you,"  she  said,  hurriedly,  and  almost  running 
away  from  him,  sprang  into  the  carriage.  But  once  there, 
with  Emma  safely  in  her  arms,  a  change  came  over  her 
spirits,  and  she  laughed,  talked  with  the  child  inces- 
santly, and  every  now  and  then  burst  out  Avith  some 
snatch  of  a  song,  that  awoke  the  echoes  of  the  silent 
woods.  Never  since  her  return  had  Hubert  seen  her  so 
brilliant  and  so  full  of  mirth,  and  he  hardly  knew  whether 
it  boded  him  good  or  ill. 

When  they  reached  home,  they  found  the  parlor  full 
of  company,  and  tea  waiting  them  ;  and  it  was  not  till  that 
9 


98  CASTE. 

was  over  that  Helen  found  time  to  glide  away  vmnoticed 
to  the  nursery,  where  Kissy,  who  was  Angle's  maid,  was 
undressing  her. 

The  child  looked  up  as  she  entered,  and  said,  earnestly, 
"  Please,  Miss  Helen,  tell  Kissy  not  to  cry.  I  heard  her 
crying  in  the  night  last  night,  and  she's  been  crying  all 
day.  There,  she's  crying  again  !  Please,  Kissy,  don't ; 
Angle  loves  you  !  "  And  she  wiped  the  dark  face,  and  laid 
her  own  cheek  tenderly  against  it. 

Poor  Kissy  tried  to  say  something,  but  broke  down  in 
the  attempt,  and  gave  way  to  a  fresh  fit  of  weeping. 
Helen  took  the  child  from  her  lap,  and  having  quietly 
finished  undressing,  laid  her  in  bed,  and  bestowed  the 
good-night  kiss,  she  beckone'cl  the  maid  to  follow  her,  and 
went  to  her  own  room. 

When  the  door  was  shut  she  said,  kindly,  "  I  know 
what  your  trouble  is,  and  am  sorry  for  you  ;  but  you  must 
try  to  bear  it;  perhaps  it  won't  be  so  bad  as  you  fear." 

"  O  miss,  does  ye  know  'bout  it?  'Twan't  true  what 
dey  say  dat  time  'bout  Michel.  He  ain't  neber  took  no 
new  wife,  but  he's  sold.  O,  my  poor  feller  !  he  massa 
done  sold  him.  O,  dear  !  O,  dear  !  "  and  she  wrung  her 
hands  and  groaned. 

"  Do  you  know  why  he  was  sold  ?  " 

"  O  Miss  Helen,  I  reckons  'twasn't  he  massa  'zacly, 
sold  him,  but  he  missis.  Miss  Clara ;  she  hard  one,  and 
dey  all  hab  streakin  time  dere.     'Pears  like  she  got  mad 


GOODTIDINGS.  90 

case  my  Michel  done  comes  home  'fore  he  time  out ;  dey 
hires  him  out  dis  year  past ;  and  she  say  it  all  Michel 
fault,  so  as  to  be  near  me,  and  she  sell  him.  Dey  tuck 
him  clear  off  widout  ncber  let  him  come  say  good  by  to 
poor  Kissy.  O  Miss  Helen,  you  don't  know  nothin  what 
a  pain  I  has  here  —  eber  since  I  find  it  out."  And  she 
laid  her  hand  on  her  heart. 

"  Kissy,"  said  Helen,  impressively,  "  listen  to  me.  Can 
you  keep  a  secret  ?  Can  you  be  silent  and  never  tell  any 
one  what  I  am  going  to  tell  you  ? " 

"  O,  yes,  you  may  trust  Kissy,"  said  she,  gro^A^ng 
calmer. 

"  Listen  then  —  I  have  seen  your  husband  to-day." 

The  girl  uttered  a  faint  exclamation,  and  leaned  forward, 
Avith  her  whole  soul  looking  out  fi-om  her  eager,  anxious 
face.     Helen  went  on. 

"  I  have  seen  him  ;  he  was  hiding  in  the  woods  near 
here,  where  we  stopped  to  gather  flowers.  He  has  run 
away  from  his  master.  I  had  no  time  to  ask  him  ques- 
tions, but  he  told  me  to  tell  you  to  meet  him  by  the 
blasted  pine  tree  after  dark." 

"I'll  go,"  said  the  girl,  almost  breathless  from  excite- 
ment. "  He  was  sold  to  go  to  Georgy  ;  and  now  I  reckon 
he's  run  away.  O,  I  must  go  quick,  or  some  of  dese  yer 
niggers  will  see  him,  and  may  be  dey"  11  tell.  O  Miss 
Helen,  bless  ye.  'Pears  like  my  heart's  dat  light  now, 
wid  de  thought  o"  seein  him  aorain." 


100  CASTE. 

She  seized  Helen's  hand  and  kissed  it  fervently,  as  she 
spoke,  and  then  hurried  away.     After  she  had  left  the 
room  it  occurred  to  Helen  that  perhaps  she  might  share 
her  husband's  flight  towards  the  north  star;  and  for  a 
moment   she   was    alarmed.      "But,"    she    added,    half 
aloud,  "I  don't  blame  her  if  she  does  go;  and  if  Mrs. 
Warner  suspects  me  of  instigatmg  her  to  escape,  I  shall 
tell  her  what  I  have  done,  and  see  if  she  will  dare  say  I 
have  not  obeyed  the  requirements  of  humanity  and  jus- 
tice."    And  with  this  heroic  sentence  on  her  lips,   she 
went  down  stairs,  where  she  was  soon  engaged  in  an  ani- 
mated discussion  of  the  weather,  and  various  other  equally 
novel  and  important  matters. 


CHAPTER    SIXTH 


"The  morn  is  tip  again  —  the  dewy  mom, 

With  broatb  all  iuccnse,  and  with  cheek  all  bloom; 
Laughing  the  clouds  away  with  playful  scorn, 
And  smiling  as  if  earth  contained  no  tomb, 
And  glowing  into  day." 


It  must  be  confessed  that  Helen  felt  not  a  little  re- 
lieved the  next  morning,  when  she  saw  Kissy  engaged  in 
her  usual  household  duties.  She  looked  anxious,  and 
somewhat  sad,  but  her  "  how  d'vc  "  to  Helen  was  accom- 
panied  by  a  grateful  smile,  that  told  she  had  seen  her  hus- 
band, and  there  was  no  opportunity  to  ask  more.  ^ 

After  breakfast,  Helen  called  the  children,  and  shun- 
ning the  parlor,  where  she  siu3pected  Hubert  was  waiting 
to  see  her,  she  went  out  by  a  side  door  through  the  gar- 
den, into  the  grove  of  pines,  which  skirted  that  part  cff 
the  estate,  and  extending  back  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile, 
mingled  here  and  there  with  oak  openings,  and  the  hard 
wood  growth  which  springs  up  along  the  watercourses, 
formed  a  dividing  line  between  "  the  great  house  "  and 
the  plantation  that  stretched  away  many  an  acre  from  its 
farther  verge.  Here  the  children  loved  to  walk  with  their 
teacher,  who  often  brought  their  bonks  thither,  and  who 
9*  (101) 


102  CASTE. 


knew    a   thousand  ways   of    combining   instruction   and 
amusement. 

But  this  morning  the  books  had  been  left  behind,  and 
Miss  Helen  seemed  too  much  preoccupied  even  to  talk  to 
them  ;  and  so,  when  they  had  walked  a  while,  she  sat  down 
on  a  fallen  log,  and  they  left  her  to  her  revery. 

Busy  with  their  play,  what  cared  they  for  the  flight  of 
time  ?  And  busy  with  a  multitude  of  untold  hopes  and 
fears,  and  secret,  trembling  joy,  and  bashful,  half-ac- 
knowledged love,  how  should  she  know  she  had  sat  there 
for  more  than  an  hour,  in  nearly  the  same  attitude  ?  — her 
white  sun-bonnet  thrown  back,  exposing  the  glossy  raven 
hair,  from  which  the  sunshine  seemed  to  slide  off,  to 
touch  with  new  brightness  the  large  eyes  gazing  dreamily 

downwards,  the  rich  bloom  of  her  cheek,  the  coral-tinted 

lifts,  half  parted  with  a  smile,  and  the  small,  white  hands, 

that  lay  folded  in  her  lap. 

More  than  an  hour  she  had  been  there,  when  suddenly 

a  hand  was  laid  firmly,  almost  heavily,  on  her  shoulder. 

She  started,  and  looking  up,  saw  Mr.  Hubert  gazing  down 

upon  her. 

»  Ay,  you  had  better  blush,"  he  said,  abruptly,  as  he 
noticed' the  glow  of  her  cheek.  "  You  knew  I  was  wait- 
ing  for  you,  and  so  you  stole  off  here  through  the  garden. 
O^Miss  Helen,  as  Gus  says  about  himself,  )^u  are  cer- 
tainly '  up  to  capers,'  demure  as  you  look  at  times.  Do 
you  know  I  half  believe  you  arc  coquetting  with  me  ?    If 


THE     CKISIS.  }03 

I  should  tell  the  truth  now,  what  do  you  suppose  I  should 
call  you  r  " 

"  If  you  should  tell  the  truth !  O,  pertinent  if,  for  a 
man  of  your  habits,"  said  Helen,  trying  to  speak  care- 
lessly. 

"  O,  impertinent  miss  !     But  if  I  should  r  " 

"  Perhaps  you'd  call  me  a  bramble  bush,"  said  Helen, 
and  then  grew  more  than  ever  confused,  as  she  saw  how 
eagerly  he  seized  upon  the  thoughtless  allusion. 

"You  remember  that !  you  understood  me,  then!  "  he 
exclaimed,  seating  himself  beside  her.  "  O  Helen,  you 
know,  then,  that  you  have  torn  my  heart  out  of  my  body." 

"  Nay,"  said  she,  striving  to  rally,  "  it  was  the  eyes, 
and  not  the  heart,  which  we  talketl  about." 

"  It  is  the  heart  I  must  talk  of  now,  at  any  rate,  for 
this  suspense  I  cannot  bear,"  he  replied,  passionately.  "  I 
lay  my  heart  beneath  yom-  feet.  You  may  trample  on  it, 
and  spurn  it  if  you  -will,  but  its  latest  throb  will  be  for 
you.     Will  you  take  it?  " 

"  Nay,"  said  Helen,  tremulously,  "  if  that  gift  is  mine, 
do  you  think  I  will  not  prize  it  ? " 

He  took  her  hand  courteously,  almost  reverently,  and 
pressed  it  to  his  lips.  "  Helen,"  he  said,  simply  and 
earnestly,  "  I  love  and  honor  you  above  all  mortal  beings. 
Will  you  be  my  wife  ?  " 

"But  your  mother! — your  family!"  she  murmured 
almost  inaudibly. 


104  CASTE. 

"  Proud  Helen !  they  love  you,  too,  and  they  know  of 
my  love  for  you.  The  question  rests  only  with  yourself. 
Will  you  be  mxae  r  " 

She  looked  up  with  a  shy  sniile,  and  laid  her  other 
hand  on  that  he  still  retained.  He  grasped  it  eagerly. 
There  was  no  need  of  words. 

At  length  the  children  were  seen  running  towards  them, 
Emma  leading  little  Angle,  who  was  half  crying. 

'^What  is  the  matter?"   Helen  asked,  as  they  came 

near. 

"  Angle  is  frightened,"  said  Emma.  "  We  heard  a 
noise  down  there  in  the  hoUow,  and  it  keeps  growing 
louder,  and  she  thinks  it  is  a  bear  coming  to  catch  her." 

Hubert  was  about  to  laugh  at  the  children,  and  send 
them  away  again,  when  a  faint  sound  reached  his  ears,  and 
he  stood  up  and  Hstened  intently  for  a  moment.  Helen 
saw  a  shade  of  anxiety  on  his  face,  as  he  turned  to  her, 
saying,  "  It  is  the  bajdng  of  hounds,  and  I  tHnk  we  had 
better  go  home,  as  they  may  come  this  way.  There 
would  be  no  danger  if  they  were  well  trained,  for  in  that 
case  they  would  not  touch  any  thing  but  the  prey  they 
scent ;  but  there  is  a  man  in  the  neighborhood  who  keeps 
some  savage  dogs,  which  are  so  bacUy  trained  that  they 
are  quite  dangerous.  I  heard  of  a  white  man  being  badly 
torn  by  them  a  few  weeks  ago,  as  they  came  up  with  him 
in  the  woods." 

They  were  walking  on  while  he  was  speaking,  and  now. 


A     MAN     HUNT.  105 

as  tlie  noise  came  nearer,  they  hastened  their  steps,  Hu- 
bert carrying  Angic  in  his  arms,  and  Helen  leading  her 
sister.  For  a  little  while  they  hurried  on  without  speak- 
ing ;  and  then,  looking  back,  Helen  exclaimed,  "  I  see 
them  ;  they  are  coming  after  us  ;  do  you  suppose  they 
see  us  ?  " 

Hubert  looked  in  the  direction  she  indicated,  and  there, 
the  ground  being  level  for  a  long  distance,  he  could  dis- 
cern through  the  trees  three  dogs  bounding  furiously 
towards  them. 

"  Hurry !  "  he  exclaimed ;  "  they  do  seem  to  be  on  our 
track,  but  I  think  we  may  outrun  them." 

They  hastened  on  breathlessly,  and  were  within  a  few 
rods  of  the  garden  gate,  when  he  cast  one  more  glance 
over  his  shoulder.  The  dogs  were  close  upon  them,  their 
great  red  mouths  foaming,  and  their  white  fangs  glistening 
savagely,  while  the  air  rang  -with  their  hoarse  baying,  as 
if  a  thousand  open  throats  were  menacing  destruction  to 
the  fugitives. 

"  Run,  Helen,  —  save  yourself,  —  I  will  defend  the 
children,"  Hubert  exclaimed,  in  the  sharp,  quick  tones  of 
extreme  anxiety. 

"  "We  are  almost  there  ;  we  will  share  the  danger  to- 
gether," she  answered,  almost  calmly;  and  as  she  spoke, 
she  caught  Emma  in  her  arms,  and  went  on,  panting,  fly- 
ing, though  thus  burdened,  till  the  gate  was  reached,  was 
closed  and  fastened,  and  they  were  safe.     But  so  narrow 


1^  CASTE. 

was  their  escape,  that  one  of  the  dogs  snapped  at  Hubert, 
and  tore  a  large  piece  from  his  coat,  as  it  shut  in  the  gate. 
The  gate  was  high  and  close,  and  smooth  on  the  outside, 
so  that  the  furious  animals  could  not  spring  or  climb  over 
it,  and  howling  madly,  they  ran  along  the  hedge,  nosing 
the  ground,  and  trying  to  break  through  ;  but  fortunately 
the  array  of  thorns  was  firm  and  sharp,  and,  foiled  in 
every  attempt,  they  came  back  to  the  gate,  which  they 
bit,  and  scratched,  and  leaped  against  with  frightful 
force. 

Hubert  had  hastened  to  the  house  for  his  pistols  ;  but 
Helen,  who  had  been  so  strong  and  calm  through  all  the 
danger,  became  weak  as  an  infant  when  she  found  herself 
safe,  and  sank  down  on  one  of  the  garden  seats,  faint 
with  fatigue  and  alarm.  jNIrs.  Warner,  when  she  found 
the  children  were  not  hurt,  hastened  to  her,  and  soon 
Hubert  appeared,  with  his  pistols  loaded,  and  walked  rap- 
idly to  the  gate.  Mounting  on  the  inside  beam,  he  looked 
over  at  the  furious  creatures,  who,  when  they  saw  him, 
made  renewed  efforts  to  reach  him,  and  was  just  taking 
aim  to  shoot  them,  when  a  loud  voice  called  him  to  stop, 
and  a  man  appeared,  coming  swiftly  along. 

"  Call  off  your  dogs,  or  I'll  kill  them,"  Hubert  shouted. 
The  man  endeavored  to  obey  him,  but  they  were  un- 
manageable ;    and   seeing  that  one   of  them  had  nearly 
broken  a  hole  through  the  hedge,  he  fired,  and  the   do- 
fell  to  the  ground,  in  the  agonies  of  death. 


A     "  G  E  N  T  L  E  M  A  N  ."  107 

"What  do  you  mean,  shooting  my  hest  dog!"  ex- 
claimed the  man,  angrily,  drawing  a  pistol  in  his  turn. 

"  Put  up  that !  Two  can  play  at  that  game,"  said 
Hubert,  angrily,  pointing  his  remaining  weapon  at  the 
stranger. 

The  man  lowered  his  arm,  but  repeated,  "•  He  was  my 
best  dog —  what  did  you  shoot  him  for  ?  " 

"  You  miserable  Yankee  scoundrel,  what  did  your  dogs 
chase  us  for  ?  "  exclaimed  Hubert,  thoroughly  enraged. 

"  I  am  not  a  Yankee  ;  I  am  the  son  of  a  Kentucky 
gentleman,"  retorted  the  man,  drawing  himself  up  as  if 
he  had  received  a  great  insult. 

"Your  father  must  be  proud  of  you!  "  said  Hubert, 
surveying  him  from  head  to  foot,  with  great  scorn.  "  Call 
off  these  howling  devils,  and  muzzle  them,  or  I  will  kill 
them  both,"  he  added,  peremptorily.  The  man,  fearing 
the  threat  would  be  fulfilled,  complied  with  the  command, 
and,  after  a  good  deal  of  trouble,  succeeded  in  muzzling 
and  tying  the  dogs  to  a  tree  which  stood  not  far  off. 

He  was  a  tall,  wiry-looking  man,  about  forty  years  old, 
with  light  hair,  and  dull,  gray  eyes  ;  and  his  face,  hands, 
and  dress  gave  unmistakable  evidence  that  cleanliness,  at 
least,  was  not  among  his  virtues. 

Having  secured  the  two  dogs,  he  came  again  to  the 
gate  where  Hubert  still  remained,  and,  doubling  his  fist, 
declared,  with  an  oath,  he  would  have  satisfaction  for  the 
death  of  the  animal  which  lay  on  the  sand. 


108  CASTE. 

"You  Yankee  scoundrel,  leave  this  place,"  said  Hu- 
bert, sternly  ;  "  you  may  be  thankful  I  didn't  put  a  bullet 
through  your  head,  as  well  as  the  dog's." 

"  I  am  not  one  of  those  miserable  pie-crust  Yankees," 
exclaimed  the  man,  "  and  I  won't  be  called  so." 

"  What  do  you  look  so  much  like  one  for,  then  ?  Men 
of  your  stamp  generally  are  Yankees." 

"  I  can't  help  my  looks,  but  I  won't  be  called  names 
by  any  body,  big  or  little,"  replied  he,  in  churlish  tones. 

"  You  are  in  Yankee  business,  any  way,"  returned  Hu- 
bert, carelessly.  "  Hunting  niggers  is  a  dii-ty  piece  of 
work  no  gentleman  would  soil  his  hands  with ;  and  that, 
I  suppose,  is  your  business  here  ;  but  why  don't  you 
teach  yom-  dogs  to  know  a  white  man  from  a  nig- 
ger?" 

"  I'm  a  southern  gentleman  myself,  and  I  despise  the 
Yankees  as  much  as  any  body,"  replied  the  man,  drawing 
a  little  nearer,  and  speaking  less  angrily ;  "  but  I'll  say 
this  much  for  them,  if  nobody  kept  niggers,  nobody  'd 
have  to  hunt  'em.     What  do  you  say  to  that  ?  " 

"  I  say  that  people  who  can't  treat  niggers  so  they 
won't  want  to  run  away,  have  no  business  to  hold  them  ; 
and  those  that  hunt  them  and  carry  them  back,  always 
give  them  back  to  hard  masters,  and  no  decent  man  would 
dirty  his  fingers  with  such  business.  But  I  don't  stay 
here  to  bandy  words  with  you.  I  just  give  you  warning 
that  your  dogs  are  a  nuisance,  —  our  ladies  can't  walk  in 


HAKMLESSDOGS.  109 

the  woods  for  fear  of  tliem,  —  and  if  you  don't  take  thoni 
out  of  the  district  before  twenty-four  hours  arc  over,  they 
shall  be  shot  as  dead  as  that  carcass  yonder." 

"  Bless  you,  they  ain"t  the  least  mite  dangerous,  only 
to  niggers,"  said  the  man,  earnestly. 

"  Impudence  !  do  you  tell  me  that !  when  here  is  a 
lady  and  children  who  might  have  been  torn  to  pieces  by 
them  ? " 

"  They  wouldn't  got  hurt,  nor  you  either,  if  you'd  only 
stepped  one  side,  out  of  their  way.  It  wasn't  you  they 
was  after.  They  was  on  full  scent  after  a  nigger  they're 
hunting ;  I  thought  most  likely  I'd  find  him  up  here  to 
your  place,  for  his  wife  belongs  here." 

"  Whom  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"It's  a  fellow  named  ]\Iichel.  Pie  used  to  belong  to 
Colonel  Bell ;  but  he  was  sold  about  a  month  ago,  and 
when  they  was  taking  him  to  Georgy,  the  black  villain 
slipped  his  leash,  and  got  off.  So  the  fellow  that  bought 
him  sent  to  me.  I  hunted  round  with  the  dogs  till  they 
got  on  the  track,  and  since  then  they  have  come  right  on 
a  bee  line,  all  this  morning  and  last  night.  I'm  clean 
knocked  up,  I'm  so  tired,  and  I  left  my  horse  down  here 
apiece;  but  I  tell  you 'twas  pretty  to  see  the  critters 
go ;  "  and  the  man  looked  back  to  his  hounds,  his  eye 
kindling  with  professional  pride. 

Hubert  bit  his  lips,  and  looking  down  at  his  mother, 
10 


110 


who  had  stood  near  him  in  the  garden,  and  out  of  sight 
of  tlie  man,  he  said,  — 

"  Did  you  know  about  this  ?  It  is  Kissy's  husband, 
isn't  it?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  she  ;  "  I  heard  of  it  some  time  ago,  and 
I  believe  Kissy  knows  it  now,  for  she  has  cried  most  of 
the  time  for  the  last  two  days.  He  can't  be  here, 
though !  " 

"I  am  not  so  sure  that  he  has  not  been  here,"  said 
Hubert,  thoughtfully.  "  Those  dogs  certainly  acted  as  if 
they  scented  their  prey." 

"  Come  !  what  are  you  talking  about  ?  "  the  man  called 
out,  impatiently.  "  Open  the  gates,  and  stand  out  o'  the 
way,  and  just  see  how  splendidly  the  dogs  will  nose  him 
out.  I  won't  unmuzzle  'em,  so  they  can't  hurt  any  body  ; 
and  I  know  if  he  ain't  here  now,  he's  been  here,  and  the 
critters  act  as  if  they  smelt  him  pretty  near.  See  how 
they  jump  and  spring." 

Hubert  gave  a  long,  low  whistle.  "  They'll  jump  a 
while  longer  before  they  come  into  these  grounds.  What, 
man !  do  you  suppose  any  gentleman  would  have  you 
hunting  through  his  estate  with  your  infernal  dogs  ?  " 

"  I  know  some  gentlemen  that  do  it,"  said  the  stran- 
ger, tauntingly,  "  and  I  reckon  I'll  find  out  some  way  to 
do  it,  if  that  nigger  is  here,  if  I  have  to  stay  round  the 
place  a  week." 


A     SEARCH     TKOrOSED.  Ill 

"  You  remember  what  I  told  you  about  getting  the 
dogs  out  of  the  district !     I"ll  shoot  them  if  you  stay." 

The  noise  of  the  dogs,  and  the  firing  of  pistols,  had 
aroused  the  whole  household,  and  by  degrees  they  had 
collected  ^yithin  the  garden,  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  spot 
where  this  loud  conversation  was  going  on ;  and  now  Mr. 
Warner,  arriving  at  the  house  in  the  opposite  direction, 
saw  them  through  the  open  doors,  and  came  to  find  out 
what  was  happening. 

A  few  -words  passed  between  father  and  son,  and  then 
Hubert  stepped  down,  and  his  father,  opening  the  gate, 
passed  out,  and  began  questioning  the  man.  Hubert 
went  to  Helen,  who  stood  a  little  apart  from  the  rest,  and 
was  startled  to  see  her  looking  so  very  pale  and  anxious. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed  ;  your  fright  was  too  much  for  you ; 
come  into  the  house,  and  rest  yourself,"  he  said,  tenderly, 
drawing  her  hand  within  his  arm,  and  leading  her  away. 

But  she  clasped  both  hands  over  his  arm,  and  looking  up 
in  his  face  with  tearful  eye,  said  imploringly,  "  It  is  Kissy's 
husband  ;  she  saw  him  last  night,  and  I  fear  he  may  be 
here  now.  Will  your  father  let  the  man  in  here  to  search 
for  him  ?     Cannot  wo  save  him  r ' ' 

"  Father  may  consent  to  have  the  out-buildings 
searched ;  indeed,  he  cannot  very  well  help  it.  Do  you 
know  where  he  is  ?  " 

"  No  ;  but  look  at  Kissy  ;  she  must  know  he  is  in  dan- 
ger. 


112 


Hubert  looked  towards  the  piazza,  Avhere  the  wretched 
wife  stood  alone,  leaning  against  a  pillar.  They  conld  not 
see  the  expression  of  her  face,  but  her  attitude  betokened 
the  most  intense  anxiety.  Hubert  looked  down  thought- 
fully a  few  moments,  and  then  his  whole  face  lighted  ;  and 
placing  Helen  on  the  garden  seat,  he  said,  cheerfully,  "  I 
will  save  him,"  and  Avalked  rapidly  to  the  house. 

From  her  position  Kissy  had  seen  his  conversation 
Avith  Helen,  and  her  gestures,  and  meeting  his  kindly 
glance  as  he  came  up  the  steps,  she  sprang  fom^ard,  and 
crouching  at  his  feet,  she  cried,  "  O  Mass  Hubert,  he  is 
here.     O,  for  de  love  of  Heaven  do  save  him." 

"  Where  is  he  ?  Get  up,  girl ;  somebody  will  see  you. 
Where  is  he  ?  " 

"In  de  barn  —  I  done  hid  him.  O,  don't  let  him  be 
found,"  she  said,  Avringing  her  hands  as  she  rose  to  her 
feet. 

"  Go,  get  him  —  quick  —  you  have  not  a  moment  to 
lose  —  and  bring  him  to  my  room." 

She  sped  aAvay,  and  in  a  few  moments  reappeared  with 
Michel,  who  Avas  able  to  cross  the  yard  A\ithout  being 
seen,  as  all  the  sonants  Avere  in  the  garden. 

"  Massa's  too  good  J  '  said  the  poor  felioAv,  gratefully, 
as  he  saAv  Hubert  Avaitin'^  in  the  upper  hall  to  receive 
him. 

"We'll  talk  by  and  by,"  said  Hubert;  "come  here, 
now  ;  and  you,  girl,  go  down  stairs,  C'^^-^  -^""^^  f^^'"''^  ^s  you 


T  H  E     S  E  A  R  C  H  .  113 

can  ;    and  keep  your  mouth    shut,  for  I   don't  want  old 
massa  to  know  of  this  till  I  tell  him  myself." 

He  drew  Michel  into  the  chamber.  His  bed  stood  in  a 
recess,  and  he  ordered  the  negro  to  creep  under  and  be- 
hind it,  and  for  his  life  not  to  move  or  sjjcak  till  he  gave 
him  leave  ;  and  when  he  had  seen  his  orders  obeyed  he 
returned  to  the  piazza,  just  in  time  to  see  his  father  and 
the  stranger  go  through  the  j'ard,  to  the  servants'  apart- 
ments. Helen  joined  him  there.  She  did  not  ask  what 
he  had  done  with  jMichel,  but  one  look  at  his  face  assured 
her  of  safety,  and  her  softly  spoken  thanks  and  her  glad 
smile  would  have  repaid  him  for  a  much  greater  effort. 
Presently  Mr.  Warner  came  back,  looking  weary  and 
annoyed,  and  he  muttered,  as  he  threw  himself  into  a 
chair,  — 

"  That  is  the  greatest  brute  I  ever  saw." 

"  You  won't  let  him  come  into  the  house  ?  "  said  Hu- 
bert, inquiringly. 

"  I  suppose  I  must." 

"  I  don't  see  the  necessity." 

"  He  threatens  me  with  a  search  warrant  if  I  don't, 
and  I  don't  want  to  quarrel  with  such  a  low  fellow  as 
that.  Let  him  look,  and  woe  betide  him  if  he  comes 
again  on  such  an  errand." 

Hubert,  Avho  had  been  walking  along  the  piazza,  with 
Helen  at  his  side,  took  two  or  three  more  turns  in  silence, 
and  then  said,  — 

10* 


114 

urn  1  ,  with  him.     I  will 

If  he  must  be  admitted,  let  me  go 
take  care  he  does  no  harm  " 

it  A  ,  "ompanion, 

1  assure  you. 

"I   suppose   not.     Here   he    comes -the    rascal: 
wonder  rf  I  sWI  be  able  to  refrain   from   KcUn„  bj^ 
do,-n  stairs  after  I  have  gone  up  ivitb  him." 

The  man  now  approaehed,  snapping  his  riding  whip, 
«"d  ,vuh  a  malicious  air  he  pointed  it  at  Kissy,  ,vho  stood 
near-,  and  said,  — 

"  Is  that  the  nigger's  gal }  " 

Mr.  Warner  nodded  assent. 

He  st.-ode  forward  and  attempted  to  take  her  by  the 
^shoulder;  but  she  shrank,  trembling,  from  his  touch;  and 
^Ook  refuge  behind  her  master's  chair. 

"Look  here,  you  wench -Where's  Michel.^"  he  said 
shaking  his  fist  at  her;  and  then  looking  at  Mr.  Warner' 
he  added,  —  ' 

"I've  looked  in  every  hole  about  the  premises,  and  I 
•can't  find  him  any  where;  but  if  youll  only  let  me  tie 
that  gal  up  and  give  her  some,  I'll  soon  get  out  of  her 
where  he  'is." 

"Sir,"  said  Mr.  Warner,  stiffly,  -I  don't  like  such 
■talk.  Yo-a  have  looked  till  you  are  satisfied,  and  now 
.the  sooner  you  go  away  the  better  I  shall  like  it." 

"  I  don't  know  about  being  satisfied,"  replied  he,  with 
a  cool  impudence. 


ANOTHER     BECOGIVITION.  115 

"  Come,  then  ;  the  sooner  we  arc  done  with  you  the 
better,"  said  Hubert,  impatiently  ;    and  he  stepped  for- 
ward to  lead  the  way.     The  man  turned  to  follow  him, 
and  then,  for  the  first  time,  his  eyes  fell  on  Helen,  who 
had  been  half  hidden  behind  a  high  stand  of  plants,  in  the 
g  hadow   of  the    vines    that   grew  over   the  piazza.     He 
looiv  '^^  at  her  at  first  carelessly,  and  then,  with  a  sudden 
start  JL  '®  stopped  and  gazed  earnestly,  his  dull  eyes  gradu- 
allv  open.  *^S  wider  and  wider,  his  lips  half  parted,  and  his 
whole  face      '^^t^^d  ii^to  an  expression  of  the  most  intense 

astonishment. 

"  Ten  thousan   ^  devils  !  "  he  exclaimed,  at  length,  the 

words  dropping  slo .  ^^^  ^°^  ^^^  tongue,  as  if  it  had  been 

paralyzed ;    and    then,      "^"^^  ^  ^°^g  whistling    breath    he 

added,  "  If  this  yer  ain't     ^^^  ^^^^  extrodinary  likeness  I 

n-er   did   see  —  or  else  it     ^  herself  come    back   again. 

o  on  airth  mought  that  yo.   ""^  '''°™*^  ^"^  •  " 

'^^^  'one  was  so  familiar  and  i.  ■^solent,  that  coming  after 

j^^  ^  ovocations,  it  quite  ovei  "^^^^  '"'^^^  li"l«  P^- 

in  the  two  gentlemen  w. ''**  ^^^^^  ^^-     ^^'^■ 
o  many  pi  ° 

X  ^  ">»  saying,  — 

lence  wa&  left  '      j     o  ,    ,     . 

Varner  .^^  u,  ■'^'^  ^>'  "'»"^"  ^  ^^  '"^ '"'•  '°  ""' 

"  What  do  yot?  m  ,.  , 

word,  but  with  one  ^  ^^■^'^•''^ 

Hubert  did  not.  speSk^  a  '"  '''^''  '  '"  ^^^^^^-^"^  ^""^ 
ick  sent  him  down  the  pK.  ^'  ^^'''  "'^^^  ^"^  '^''   ""  ' 

•rcibly,  that  he  fell  forward' d!*>^  "  \ 

ig  on  the  ground. 


X\^  CASTE. 

It  is  said  there  are  some  men  to  whom  being  knocked 
do\^^l  is  a  salutary  discipline.     However  it  might   have 
been  in  this  case,  the  man's  Avhole  manner  was  changed 
•when  he  arose.     For  a  moment  he  stood  irresolute,  and 
then  ascending  the  steps,  he  motioned  to  Hubert  to  guide 
him  through  the  house  ;  but  he  did  not  look  in  his  facp 
except  in    sly,  sidewise  glances,  and    he  did  not  sp*^*^- 
Once   he  looked    towards  the  place  where  he   hac^  ^^^^ 
Helen,  but  she  had  gone,  and  he  followed  B.v^^^  "^*° 
the  house.     When  they  reached  the  upper  haV  ^his  latter 
gentleman  turned  to  him  and  said,  sternly,  ■" 

"Hark,  feUow;  I'll  go  before  you  and^P^n  the  doors 
of  all  the  rooms,  and  you  may  stand  and  o^^  in  ;  since  you 
seem  to  think  we  hide  niggers  in  the-  I  suppose  this  form 
must  be  gone  through  mth  —  bu^^' ^^^^  v^'^^^^^ae  to  dese- 
crate one  of  these  rooms  by  st<^Pi^.^'  y«^^^  ^^'^  i^^^^e  the 
doors,  I'll  shoot  you  as  I  wr'^  ^  ^°S-  ' 

The  strange,  dark  shad  *^'^  ^he  man's  face  lowered  stiU 

1        -1      1.  ,<-  ^,o  -d  not  seem  to  resent  being  thus 
more  gloomily,  but  ne  » 

J  J  1         J  „„j  uo  reply.     He  followed  the  diroc- 

addressed,  and  mao  ^  •' 

,.        .      T  -4.1        -  attemptin;;;  to  enter  the  rooms,  as  one 
tions  implicitly,  r  ^       »  ' 

,  ft         n*"^^  ^^^^  flung  open,  and  closets  and  ward- 

1  iJ.  their  contents  beneath  Hubert's  impatient 

robes  revea  '■ 

r      1       pjr  ]\Iichcl  trembled  in  his  hiding-place,  but  was 

and  unsuspected.     When  all  the  rooms  had  been 
unseer  ^ 

except  Helen's  and  Mrs.  "Warner's,  the  man  went 
^'kvn  stairs  without  a  word,  and  so  out  to  the  piazza  and 


M  0  T  II  E  K  -  I  Jf  -  L  A  AV  .  117 

through  the  garden,  and  closhig  the  gate  softly  behind 
him,  went  away. 

Only  when  he  saw  the  dead  hound,  that  still  lay  on 
the  sand  Avhcre  he  fell,  he  paused  a  moment,  and  a  spasm 
of  emotion  disturbed  the  stony  calmness  of  his  features. 

He  lifted  up  his  aiTns  and  shook  both  fists  toAvards  the 
gate  behind  him,  and  with  a  muttered  imprecation  untied 
his  dogs,  and  leading  them,  disappeared  among  the  trees. 

That  evening,  as  Helen  sat  in  her  own  room,  the  door 
opened  softly  ;  she  heard  a  quick  step  behind  her,  and  two 
firm  though  gentle  hands  pressed  her  face,  drawing  back 
her  head  so  that  a  cordial  kiss  could  be  placed  upon  her 
lips  ;  and  Mrs.  Warner  said,  in  her  own  hearty  toiies, 
without  the  least  prelude,  — 

"  I  am  glad  of  it,  my  child ;  you  are  a  little  too  good 
for  that  lazy  boy,  but  still  I  believe  he'll  try  to  make  you 
a  good  husband." 

In  her  heart  Helen  thought,  "  Ah,  proud  mother,  you 
would  not  think  the  Queen  of  England  too  good  for  your 
son  ;  "  but  she  only  said,  "  You  make  me  too  happy  ;  " 
and  kissed  the  hands  she  had  taken. 

After  this  little  "  ice  breaking,"  Mrs.  Warner  went  on 
with  her  usual  business-like  promptness  to  discuss  the 
details  of  marriage.  Helen  had  not  yet  thought  of  these, 
and  she  shrank  bashfully  from  the  subject,  half  sorry  to 
have  her  dreamy  revery  so  disturbed.  But  ]Mrs.  Warner 
persisted. 


118  CASTE. 

"It  is  necessary  to  talk  of  it,"  slic  said,  "  for  Hubert 
must  leave  us  soon,  and  lie  cannot  go  till  all  is  arranged. 
His  first  desire,  rasli  boy  that  be  is,  was  an  immediate 
marriage,  and  to  take  you  with  him  to  Cuba.  But  I  soon 
reasoned  him  out  of  that.  You  would  be  exposed  to  the 
acclimating  fever,  and  it  would  never  do  ;  then  there  is 
always  more  or  less  cholera  there  in  the  summer.  He  is 
used  to  it,  so  there  is  no  danger  for  him  ;  but  for  you  it 
would  be  dangerous.  Besides  this  I  have  plans  for  you 
this  summer.  I  can't  let  him  monopolize  you  yet.  ^^  e 
are  all  going  to  the  springs  this  year,  and  you  must  go 
Avith  us.  I  can't  get  along  without  you ;  so  don"t  think 
of  making  any  objections.  When  he  comes  home  in  the 
fall  you  can  be  married.  It  will  be  much  the  best  time." 
"  I  must  go  to  my  brother's,  and  be  married  there," 
said  Helen. 

"  Nonsense  !  you  will  do  no  such  thing  —  you  will  stay 
here,  and  we  will  have  all  the  children  come  home  and 
have  a  grand  time.  Hubert  is  the  last  one,  and  he  has 
been  something  of  a  prodigal  son,  in  keeping  away  from 
home  so  much :  so  we  will  kill  the  fatted  calf,  and  eat, 
drink,  and  be  merry.  The  children  haven't  all  been  at 
home  together  for  a  good  many  years,  and  they  will  en- 
joy it." 

Thus  she  talked  on,  in  her  earnest,  hopeful,  practical 
manner,  and  Helen  listened,  realizing  dimly  that  it  was  her- 
self for  whom  all  these  plans  were  projected  —  she,  who 


GOLDEN     DRKAJIS.  119 

had  all  her  life  been  an  orphan,  and  so  long  self-depend- 
ent, but  who  now  was  taken  to  the  centre  of  a  mother's 
heart,  and  received  by  a  numerous  family  ;  and  half  con- 
scious that  with  her  sober,  waking  eyes,  she  was  looking 
down  this  golden  vista  of  the  future,  so  bright  that  it 
seemed  to  belong  only  to  the  land  of  dreams. 


CHAPTER    SEVENTH. 

"  And  nowhere  was  there  discontent, 
Or  pride,  or  scorn,  or  argument; 
But  all  things,  in  that  golden  weather. 
Seemed  only  to  live  and  love  together." 

Swiftly  the  days  sped  on.  O,  happy  days  !  Golden 
sands,  dropped  sparkling  from  the  glass  of  Time,  to  gleam 
forever  brightly  amid  the  coarser  and  darker  grains  of 
common  life. 

The  lovers  were  almost  constantly  together,  for  now 
that  the  treasure  he  had  coveted  was  his  own,  Hubert 
grew  miserly,  and  wished  to  monopolize  every  word  and 

look. 

His  mother  had  no  longer  any  occasion  to  call  Jiim  slow 
and  cool,  for  never  was  the  most  impulsive  youth  more 
exacting  or  more  devoted.  And  Helen,  happy  beyond  all 
her  dreams  or  hopes,  gave  herself  up  half  fearfully  to  the 
enjoyment  of  her  new  bliss,  yielded  gracefully  to  his  lov- 
ing tyranny,  and  perhaps  liked  him  all  the  better  that  he 
persisted  in  watching  over  and  waiting  upon  her,  as  if  she 
had  not  been  all  her  life  independent  and  self-reliant. 

Nothing  more  had  been  heard  of  the  slave  hunter  or 
tis  hounds ;  but  Michel  had  remained  for  a  day  or  two 

(120) 


EIGHT    on   wnoNG?  121 

secreted  in  the  barn,  partly  from  policy,  and  partly  from 
reluctance  to  bid  bis  wife  farewell.  When  she  first  met 
him  at  the  appointed  rendezvous,  it  had  been  her  inten- 
tion to  run  away  with  him  ;  and  it  was  -that  she  might  pre- 
pare herself  for  the  journey  he  had  consented  to  encoun- 
ter this  risk  of  discovery ;  but  after  Hubert's  kindness  to 
him  on  that  eventful  day,  these  simple  souls  came  to  the 
conclusion  it  would  not  be  right  for  Kissy  to  steal  herself, 
and  in  a  prolonged  and  tearful  discussion  it  was  agreed 
that  Michel  should  pursue  his  journey  alone,  and  if  he 
reached  the  land  of  freedom,  he  should  earn  money 
enough  to  send  and  buy  her  from  jNIr.  Warner. 

Hubert  had  asked  no  questions  about  him  since  the 
night  he  dismissed  him  from  his  chamber,  and  Kissy  \\dsely 
kept  her  own  counsel,  so  that  few,  even  of  the  servants, 
suspected  he  was  near.  In  truth,  when  the  excitement 
of  the  moment  was  past,  Hubert  was  not  quite  sure  his 
father  would  approve  the  part  he  had  acted  in  regard  to 
Michel ;  and  though  there  were  few  deeds  of  his  life  for 
which  he  had  less  cause  to  blush,  there  were  none  to 
which  he  would  not  rather  have  said,  Peccavi,  before  a 
mixed  audience  of  his  fi-iends  and  neighbors.  Such  is  the 
force  of  public  opinion.  Thus  strong  is  the  influence  of 
education  and  habit. 

]\Iay  day  had  come  and  past ;  and  in  that  country  May 
is,  above  all  other  months,  the  season  of  flowers.  Then 
the  earth,  not  yet  reduced  to  sterility  by  the  summer  heat, 
11 


122 


awakened  from  the  short  repose  of  winter,  whicli  is  here 
a  sleep,  and  not  a  death,  as  in  colder  climes,  arrays  her- 
self in  gorgeous  robes  of  vivid  green,  fluttering  every 
where  full  and  free,  crowns  herself  with  roses,  perfumes 
herself  Avith  delicious  odors,  and  looks  up  exulting,  to  lay 
her  flowery  tribute  at  the  feet  of  her  lord,  the  sun. 

It  was  on  one  of  these  afternoons,  such  as  might  have 
been  in  paradise  before  the  fall,  when  the  family  were 
sitting  together  in  the  pleasant  shade  formed  by  the 
climbing  roses  that  thickly  covered  the  trellis  work  before 
the  north  piazza.  Mrs.  Warner  and  Helen  were  busy 
■\\ith  some  light  work,  whUe  the  children  had  been  silently 
making  -vvTreaths,  with  which  they  had  croA^Tied  every  one 
present,  not  excepting  Hubert,  who  was  reading  aloud,  or 
his  father,  who  had  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  mth  his 
handkerchief  over  his  head,  so  comfortably  asleep  that  his 
wife  signed  to  Emma  not  to  disturb  him,  and  the  wreath 
was  dropped  carefully  over  the  handkerchief,  where,  as 
Angle  whispered,  laughing,  "  It  did  look  so  funny !  " 

The  reading  was  ended,  at  length,  and  the  moment  the 
book  was  closed,  both  children  exclaimed,  "  Now  may  we 
talk  ?  "  and  forth\vith  began  an  indefinite  amoxmt  of  chat- 
tering. 

"  Why,  the  little  tongues  !  how  they  gallop,  after  their 
long  rest !  "  said  Hubert,  when  he  had  listened  a  few  mo- 
ments. 

"  You  know  we  jocre  still,  though  you  said  we  couldn't 
be,"  Emma  cried,  in  triumph. 


A     DRIVE     PROPOSED.  123 

"  It  was  an  active  sort  of  stillness  ;  you  weren't  quiet 
one  instant." 

"  Quiet  ?  O,  yes,  you  mean  we  moved  about.  Well, 
we  had  to,  to  get  our  flowers.  See,  I  made  that  wreath. 
Don't  Helen  look  pretty  in  it  ?  " 

"  Ytry^''  said  Hubert,  emphatically ;  "  only  I  think  a 
myrtle  wreath  would  look  better." 

"O  uncle  !  myrtle  isn't  half  so  pretty  as  roses." 

"  Your  uncle  has  a  particular  reason  for  preferring  myr- 
tle just  now,"  said  Mrs.  Warner,  with  a  sly  glance  at 
Helen,  whose  face  glowed  with  a  richer  bloom  than  the 
damask  roses  which  cro\\Tied  her  shining  hair. 

"  Uncle,  uncle,  you  know  Avhat  you  promised  us,  if  we 
would  keep  still.     A  drive,"  shouted  Angle. 

"  And  you  think  you've  earned  it !  What  an  instance 
of  juvenile  presumption  !  " 

"  I  thiiik  we've  all  earned  it ;  or,  if  we  haven't,  it  will 
do  us  good,"  said  Mr.  Warner,  rousing,  and  uncovering 
his  face.     "Go  order  the  carriage,  my  son." 

"  How  can  we  ?  There  isn't  room  for  all  of  us,  for 
uncle  says  he  don't  like  to  ride  three  on  a  seat,"  said 
Emma,  pausing  thoughtfully,  with  her  finger  on  her  lip. 

"  He  can  stay  at  home,  then,"  replied  her  grandfather, 
demurely ;  "  or,  stay  !  I  have  a  better  plan.  You,  chilcben, 
and  your  grandmother  and  imcle  Hubert  can  go  in  the 
carriage,  and  Miss  Helen  and  I  will  go  in  the  buggy. 
Won't  that  dor  " 


124  CASTE. 

"  We  can  all  go  that  way,  only  —  "  and  the  child  hesi- 
tated, and  looked  in  shy  perplexity  from  her  uncle  to 
Helen. 

"  Only  what  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Warner,  much  amused. 

"  Only  I  don't  believe  uncle  will  like  you  to  drive  Miss 
Helen,"  she  answered,  diffidently. 

"  See  the  feminine  acuteness  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Warner, 
clapping  his  hands.  "  See  the  womanly  instinct !  The 
dear  little  souls  can  see  through  a  millstone  before  they 
get  their  eyes  open.  And  what  do  you  suppose  Miss 
Helen  would  say?     Would  she  object  to  it,  Emma?  " 

But  Emma,  a  sensitive,  bashful  child,  was  by  this  time 
so  embarrassed  by  the  mirth  which  she  but  dimly  under- 
stood, that  she  was  nearly  as  much  relieved  as  was  Helen, 
when  Hubert  came  to  the  rescue. 

"  Child,"  he  said,  with  mock  gravity,  "  I  honor  you ; 
you  have  discovered  a  degree  of  insight  into  the  fitness 
of  things  for  which  you  deserve  all  praise.  You  are  at 
once  an  example  and  a  reproof  to  your  venerable  ancestor. 
Since  he  has  shown  himself  so  incapable  of  managing  this 
expedition,  I  will  take  the  direction  of  affairs  into  my  OAvn 
hands.  Come,  let  xis  go  find  John,"  and  he  held  out  his 
hand  to  her. 

She  drew  a  long  breath,  and  looked  up,  her  honest 
little  face  scowling  with  the  effort  to  understand  him,  and 
said,  "  O,  uncle  docs  use  such  long  words !  " 


A     MUSICAL     PROFESSOK.  125 

"  They  are  all  in  the  dictionary,"  replied  he,  "  and  I 
know  the  meaning  of  every  one  of  them." 

"  Do  you  ?  "  she  said,  in  innocent  wonder  at  such  a  vast 
amount  of  erudition,  for  her  daily  spelling  lesson  was  the 
one  trial  of  her  life  ;  "  how  long  it  must  have  taken  you 
to  find  out  the  meanings  !  " 

"  Quite  a  long  time.  See  that  you  never  get  beyond 
your  depth  in  the  dictionary,"  replied  he,  his  gra\'ity 
yielding,  as  he  watched  her  sober  face. 

"  I  vnl\  go  with  you,"  said  Helen,  "  for  I  want  to  see 
Kissy  about  some  muslins  she  was  to  starch  for  me  ;  "  and 
they  went  into  the  yard  together. 

On  the  steps  of  the  kitchen,  the  boy  Gus  was  sitting, 
between  the  knees  of  an  old  negro,  whose  white  head 
and  appearance  of  general  decrepitude  showed  him  to  be 
a  retired  pri^^ate,  no  longer  in  active  service  \\ith  the  army 
of  servants,  but  well  cared  for  in  his  honorary  idleness. 
Between  his  stumps  of  teeth  he  held  a  jewsharp,  on  which 
he  was  performing  \\-ith  great  earnestness,  and  Gus,  biting 
desperately  at  a  similar  instrument,  was  endeavoring  to 
imitate  him,  ^vith  his  queer  round  head  twisted  side\A-ise, 
and  his  eyes  nearly  rolled  out  of  their  sockets  in  the  vain 
effort  to  look  at  his  own  mouth  and  uncle  XoU's  at  the 
same  moment. 

"Well,  Gus,  how  do  you  come  on  with  the  fine  arts? " 
said  Hubert.     '•  Is  he  an  apt  scholar,  Uncle  Xoll  ?  " 

Uncle  Noll  released  his  buzzing  instrument,  and  hold- 
11  * 


126  CASTE .       oati  A 

ing  it  tenderly  between  his  thumb  and  finger,  looked 
thoughtfully  at  the  boy,  and  answered,  mth  a  consequen- 
tial air,  as  if  his  opinion  was  of  the  utmost  importance,  — 

"  Well,  massa,  he  apt  do  good  many  tings  —  dat  boy 
—  but  dis  nigger  ain't  clar 'bout  he  gettin'  edicated ;  I 
speck  he  won't  neber  make  an  Orfus." 

"  A  what :  "  said  Hubert,  laughing. 

"  A  Orfus.  Now,  massa,  don't  go  making  fool  of  ole 
nigger.  Sartin  Mass  Hubert  know  'bout  dat  feller.  He 
use  play  on  de  jewsharp." 

"  You  mean  David,"  said  Helen  ;  "  he  used  to  play  on 
the  Jews  harp ;  "  but  the  old  man  shook  his  head  nega- 
tively, perplexed,  yet  obstinate. 

"  Do  you  mean  Orpheus  ?  "  said  Hubert. 

"  O,  yes  ;  I  know  massa  know  dat  feller.  I  hear  Miss 
Helen  tell  de  chUlen  'bout  him." 

"  What  did  she  say?" 

"  I  don't  zackly  'member  what  she  say,  but  he  great 
singer  up  dere  where  she  raised  —  play  on  de  banjo,  too." 

"  Good,"  cried  Hubert,  laughing.  "  iliss  Helen  must 
be  getting  out  a  new  classical  dictionary.  What  tune 
were  you  trying  to  teach  Caesar  Augustus  r  " 

"  I'se  tryin'  larn  him  long  syne." 

"  Long  syne  ?  "  said  Helen,  inquiringly. 

"Yes,  miss,"  replied  he;  "o/e  long  sync  —  de  ole 
fellar." 

This  caused  such  a  burst  of  laughter  that  Noll  looked 


X    PROMISING     PUPIL.  127 

up  astonished,  unconscious  of  having  said  any  thing 
fiinny. 

"Well,"  said  Hubert,  "if  you  can  keep  Gus  stUl  long 
enough  to  complete  his  musical  education,  I  hope  you'll 
do  it ;  for  nobody  else  can  keep  him  out  of  mischief.  He 
nevev  learned  any  thing  before." 

"O  Mass  Hubert,"  piped  Gus's  shrill  voice,  for  he  had 
h&in  fidgeting  with  impatience  to  get  into  the  conversa- 
tion, "  I'se  de  whole  time  larnin'  —  I  larns  heaps." 

Hubert  rejilied  carelessly,  and  turned  away  to  speak  to 
Kafe  about  the  horses,  while  Helen  went  into  the  kitchen. 
When  she  came  out,  Gus  was  still  sitting  on  the  steps, 
but  old  Noll  had  gone  to  see  the  horses  harnessed ;  for 
he  was  once  coachman,  and  seemed  now  to  consider  the 
stable  and  all  its  contents  as  his  own  property,  which  he 
magnanimously  allowed  Mr.  Warner  to  use,  and  Rafe, 
with  his  compeers,  to  take  care  of. 

The  carriages  were  brought  round  to  the  front  door, 
and  ia  fine  spirits  the  family  disposed  themselves  for  a 
drive.  Helen  and  Hubert  went  in  the  buggy,  of  course ; 
and  as  he  gathered  up  the  reins,  John  asked  respectfully 
where  they  were  going. 

"  To  Old  Granby,"  Hubert  said. 

"  That  is  too  far,"  interposed  Mrs.  Warner. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,  this  fine  afternoon.  I  want  Helen  to 
see  it.  A  deserted  village  is  quite  in  her  line ;  she'll 
write  us  a  poem  upon  it." 


128  CASTE. 

"  "Well,  then,  on  these  conditions  we'll  go,"  said  Mrs. 
Warner,  as  Helen  made  a  hasty  disclaimer. 

"  En  avant  —  go  it,  John,"  cried  Hubert,  and  the  car- 
riages started. 

The  road  lay  through  the  pine  woods,  past  lonely 
plantations,  into  hollows  where  the  air  was  heavy^^ith 
perfume,  from  thickets  of  flowering  shrubs  and  trtes  ; 
and  every  where  the  sunshine  glorified  the  landscaje, 
and  the  songs  of  birds  seemed  answering  to  their  omi 
gleeful  voices ;  for  on  this  unfrequented  way  there  was 
nothing  to  restrain  their  mirth,  and  they  talked,  they 
laughed,  they  sang,  they  bandied  jokes  and  repartees  from 
one  carriage  to  another,  Anth  such  occasional  quiet  as  made 
the  gayety  refreshing.  And  there  were  such  episodes  of 
sentiment  in  the  single  carriage  as  might  be  expected,  when 
John  drove  his  horses  too  fast,  or  the  -winding  road  for  a 
time  isolated  them,  or  the  hollows  shut  them  from  sight. 

In  all  the  party  there  Avas  but  one  face  that  wore  no 
smile,  but  one  pair  of  eyes  to  which  the  sunshine  looked 
dim,  but  one  heavy  heart ;  and  he  —  who  thought  of  him  ? 
Who  cared  that,  as  they  passed  a  certain  deserted  planta- 
tion, John  looked  up  the  lonely  avenue  with  a  smothered 
groan,  and  dropped  his  head  upon  his  breast  to  hide  his 
tears  r  It  was  «o  tmreasonahle  in  him  to  care  that  his 
wife  and  children  were  gone  from  him  forever  !  It  was 
so  ungrateful  in  him  to  prefer  any  thing  to  his  master's 
wishes ! 


A     DESEKTED     VILLAGE.  129 

They  came  out  at  length  on  a  flat  and  somewhat  ele- 
vated plain,  divided  by  broken  fences  into  fields  which 
were  bare  of  trees  and  grass,  but  supported  a  scanty 
growth  of  broom  sedge,  and  the  thorns  and  weeds  which 
indicate  worn-out  and  uncultivated  land.  At  a  little  dis- 
tance, near  the  river,  stood  three  or  four  buildings,  which 
had  evidently  once  been  used  for  stores ;  and  along  the 
silent,  sandy  streets,  that  stretched  away  from  this  spot, 
were  situated  a  number  of  houses  in  various  stages  of 
dilapidation  and  decay. 

A  few  old  and  half-dead  fruit  trees  grew  in  the  gardens 
attached  to  some  of  them,  and  every  where  the  flowering 
vines  and  shrubs,  which  careful  hands  had  once  planted, 
now  ran  in  wild  luxuriance  over  the  broken  fences,  and 
through  the  windowless  casements,  and  even  to  the  tops 
of  the  broken  chimneys. 

"  Here,"  said  Hubert,  as  they  drove  slowly  along, 
"  here  is  '  Old  Granby.'  At  the  time  of  the  revolution 
it  was  a  considerable  town,  and  the  scene  of  quite  a  skir- 
mish in  the  week  succeeding  the  battle  of  the  Cowpens. 
But  '  Ichabod '  is  written  on  its  walls  ;  its  glory  has  de- 
parted long  ago,  and  now  there  are  few  to  do  it  rev- 
erence." 

"  Is  it  entirely  deserted  ?  " 

"  Entirely.  Goldsmith  never  dreamed  of  one  so  ut- 
terly forsaken  of  human  beings.  Nothing  lives  here  noAV 
but  ghosts  —  and  '  rats  and  mice,  and  such  small  deer.'  " 


Id©  CASTE. 

"  And  memories  of  the  past,"  said  Helen.  "  O  that 
those  walls  could  in  some  way  make  known  their  own 
histories !  " 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  could  be  done,"  said  Hubert. 
"  Some  of  the  '  mediums  '  so  plenty  nowadays  might  be 
brought  here  to  interrogate  the  ghosts  who  constantly 
'  revisit  the  glimpses  of  the  moon  '  about  these  old  houses. 
If  we  may  believe  the  negroes,  it  would  be  a  grand  place 
for  a  '  circle.'  " 

"  Pooh !  "  replied  Helen,  with  an  expression  of  disgust. 
"  The  spirits  they  raise  are  all  either  vulgar  or  nonsensi- 
cal. But  what  grand  and  stately  ghosts  would  glide  over 
these  barren  fields  in  the  still  moonlight,  and  pace  those 
dusky  halls,  and  look  out  those  vine-shaded  windows  ?  I 
declare  there  is  one  now  ! "  she  exclaimed,  grasping  his 
arm,  with  a  sudden  start  of  terror,  and  pointing  to  the 
upper  window  of  a  house  they  were  just  then  passing. 

"Where?"  said  Hubert,  wondering  at  her  abrupt 
change  of  manner. 

"  In  that  window.  It  has  gone  now,  but  I  declare  I 
saw  a  face  there.     I  know  I  did." 

"  Shall  we  stop  and  pay  our  respects  to  his  ghostship  ? 
This  must  have  been  quite  a  respectable  mansion  in  its 
day,  and  if  that  was  the  owner,  no  doubt  he  Avould  be 
polite  enough  to  answer  any  inquiries  you  might  wish  to 
make." 

"  You   are   laughing   at   me ;    yet   I  did   see   a   face 


A     FREE     PASSENGER.  181 

there.  But  drive  on,  for  now  your  father  has  left  the 
carriage,  and  is  beckoning  to  us." 

They  rode  forward  accordingly,  and  joined  the  rest  of 
their  party,  who  were  now  standing  by  the  roadside. 
But  what  was  Hubert's  surprise,  on  alighting,  to  see 
Master  Gus  quietly  getting  do^\-n  from  behind  the  buggy, 
where  he  had  enjoyed  the  drive,  unkno-sAoi  to  any  one.  * 

'*  You  young  scamp,"  exclaimed  Hubert,  raising  his 
whip,  "  what  business  had  you  to  come  without  leave  ?  " 

But  the  boy,  lifting  his  hands  deprecatingly,  and  open- 
ing his  eyes  -v^-ide  in  pretended  fear,  hastened  to  exclaim, 
"  O,  now.  Mass  Hubert !  I  didn't !  I 'ain't  seen  a  single 
thing  you's  done  ! — I  donno  nothin'  what  you  been  talkin' 
'bout !     O  Mass  Hubert !  " 

His  insinuation,  and  his  attitude,  together,  were  en- 
tirely too  comical,  and  in  the  peals  of  laughter  that  en- 
sued, the  child,  as  usual,  escaped  further  chiding  for  his 
impudence. 

They  walked  on  over  a  wide  field,  to  the  place  where 
once  the  village  church  had  stood.  Not  a  vestige  of  it 
remained,  for  the  negroes  from  the  neighboring  plantations 
had  confiscated  this  church  property  to  their  own  use, 
and  taken  the  bricks  of  which  it  was  composed  to  build 
the  chimneys  to  their  huts.  But  in  the  graveyard  that 
had  been  placed  behind  it,  the  trees  and  rosebushes 
which  were  once  set  there  by  the  lo\'ing  care  of  those 
who  mourned  for  the  departed,  had  grown  to  a  thicket, 


132  CASTE. 

which  was  literally  impenetrable,  because  of  the  briers 
and  vines  that  t\vuied  around  the  stems,  and,  running 
along  the  ground,  stretched  their  arms  in  every  direction, 
as  if  to  guard  the  repose  of  the  ancient  dead. 

]Mourned  and  mourner  were  long  since  forgotten  ;  the 
eyes  that  slept  and  the  eyes  that  wept  were  turned  alike 
to  dust ;  but  silently,  year  by  year,  had  nature  been  build- 
ing up,  with  ever  renewed  vigor,  this  green  and  beautiful 
mausoleum  over  her  children's  graves.  The  thoughtless 
little  ones  were  chasing  each  other  about  the  field  with 
shouts  of  glee,  and  their  grandparents,  leaning  on  the 
fence,  were  trying  to  decipher  the  inscriptions  on  the 
nearest  stones,  and  recalling  to  mind  such  of  their  ac- 
quaintances as  were  descended  from  these  old  families ; 
but  Hubert  and  Helen  wandered  away  arm  in  arm  to  the 
river  bank,  and  sat  down  in  the  shade  of  the  trees. 

There  was  something  weird-like  in  the  soft  sunshine 
and  quiet  of  the  deserted  spot,  and  the  sound  of  mirth 
and  human  voices  seemed  to  desecrate  the  hour  and  the 

place. 

There  are  times  when  natural  sights  and  sounds  have  a 
strange  power  over  the  soul,  isolating  it  from  the  present, 
and  opening  long  vistas  into  the  dreamy,  unknown  future, 
or  the  scarcely  less  shadowy  past.  Then  vague  memo- 
ries stir  in  the  heart,  and  feelings  long  ignored  reassert 
their  existence.  Then  the  rushing  of  the  waters,  and  the 
sighing   of  the  winds,  seem   no   longer   the  sounds   of 


nature's   voices.  183 

material  things,  but  spirit  voices  full  of  prophetic  mean- 
ings, or  solemn  echoes  from  years  that  are  fled. 

Mournfully  out  of  the  past  these  voices  call  us  —  mourn- 
fully, and  ever  more  and  more  faintly  as  the  years  roll 
by ;  voices  from  that  happy  time  when  life  was  so  fresh 
and  full  of  hope,  when  those  walked  by  our  side  and 
clasped  our  hands  who  are  now  far  parted  from  us  by 
mountains  and  seas,  or  by  a  narrow  coffin  lid  and  six  feet 
of  earth.  Well  is  it  for  us,  if  forgetfulness  and  a  change- 
ful heart  have  not  been  to  us  more  fatal  sunderers  than 
distance  or  the  grave.  Well  for  us,  if  those  hands  would 
now  grasp  ours  with  the  warm  pressure  of  other  days, 
and  those  eyes  light  up  with  the  sunshine  of  early  friend- 
ship ;  for  in .  this  shifting  and  tumultuous  world  many  a 
meeting  has  been  sadder  than  partings  can  be.  From 
such  reveries  as  these  Helen  was  ai'oused  by  Hubert,  wh» 
laid  his  hand  on  hers,  saying,  — 

"  You  are  sad  ;  I  see  the  shadow  in  your  eyes." 

"  I  have  been  listening  to  what  the  river  is  saying,"  she 
replied.  "  Do  you  not  hear  an  undertone  in  its  murmur, 
telling  of  all  that  was  thought,  and  felt,  and  known,  by 
those  who  once  lived  busy  lives  in  this  spot,  so  quiet  now  ? 
How  strangely  the  ceaseless  whirl  and  rush  of  the  waters 
between  these  high  banks  contrasts  with  the  entire  repose 
of  their  last  resting-place  !  " 

"  There  is  a  sacrcdness  in  human  life,"  said  Hubert, 
"  which  we  involuntarily  acknowledge,  by  the  veneration 
12 


134 


with  which  we  regard  old  places,  and  the  melancholy  pleas- 
ure we  take  in  surrounding  ourselves  with  memories  of  the 
departed.  The  earth  is  centuries  older  than  any  thing 
upon  it ;  but  mother  earth  gains  from  us  not  one  tithe  of 
the  fond  respect  with  which  we  regard  edifices  built  by 
human  hands,  and  through  which  for  many  years  the 
stream  of  mortal  life  has  flowed." 

"Is  it  so  ?  "  said  Helen  ;  "do  we  not  rather  reverence 
death  than  life  .''  Do  we  not  make  demigods  and  heroes  of 
men  when  dead,  to  whom,  when  living,  we  should  apply  far 
more  prosaic  terms  ?  And  is  it  not  because,  looking  at  them 
through  the  soft  and  solemn  light  that  shines  from  out  the 
portals  of  the  grave,  we  see  them  transfigured  and  glori- 
fied, and  all  commonplace  and  trivial  acts  are  heightened  in 
consequence  of  their  influence  upon  the  soul's  progression 
i;hrough  the  grand  and  mysterious  eternity  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,"  replied  Hubert;  "but  still  I 
think  it  is  our  humanity,  linking  us  as  it  does  with  all  the 
past  and  the  future,  which  invests  these  places  with  such 
pecvdiar  interest.  It  may  be,  also,  that  the  mind  ever 
seeks  to  escape  from  the  present,  which  is  so  often  dull 
and  tame,  to  revel  in  romantic  ideas  of  the  past.  The 
people  whose  names  are  on  these  gravestones,  and  those 
who  lie  in  nameless  graves,  may  have  been,  many  of  them, 
very  stupid  and  uncouth,  and  the  history  of  their  lives 
one  uninteresting  series  of  commonplace  events ;  and  yet 
we,  sitting  here  this  afternoon,  are  not  at  all  inclined  to 


THE     DEAD     PAST.  135 

think  so,  but  are  wishing  we  could  have  known  them, 
and  looking  with  envy  upon  the  old  walls,  which,  though 
they  may  have  had  '  ears,'  certainly  have  no  tongues." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  Helen  said,  "  all  the  men  who  lived 
here  were  knights  sans  peiir  et  sans  reproche,  and  all  the 
women  beautiful  and  true.  How  bravely  they  sent  their 
heroes  forth  to  war !  how  anxiously  they  looked  for  their 
return !  how  eagerly  they  welcomed  them  if  they  came 
unharmed  !  how  proudly,  if  covered  with  honorable 
wounds  !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Hubert,  with  a  sly  smile,  "  and  how  amia- 
ble and  wise  they  were  !  They  never  scolded  the  servants 
before  folks,  or  let  the  children  go  dirty,  or  left  their  hus- 
bands' clothes  unmended,  or  the  buttons  off  their  shirts,  or 
allowed  the  bread  to  be  sour,  or  the  beef  roasted  to  rags 
—  in  short,  the  women  who  lived  in  the  days  of  yore  never 
subjected  their  families  to  any  of  the  minor  miseries  of 
human  life." 

"  Scoffer,"  said  Helen,  smiling  in  her  turn,  "  you  deny 
your  own  theory,  that  it  is  our  common  humanity  which 
invests  this  place  with  interest ;  for  surely,  '  to  err  is 
human.'  What  if  they  did  do  all  that  ?  They  were  grand 
and  heroic,  nevertheless  ;  and  how  dare  you  cast  dust  upon 
the  white  garments  of  their  immortality  ?  Again  I  say, 
O  that  those  walls  could  be  made  to  reveal  the  secret  of 
those  lives,  and  the  history  of  those  events." 

"  If  there  is  any  truth  in  the  theory  that  the  different 


136  CAS  TE  .     .A    «H  ; 

waves  of  sound  have  different  forms,  why  could  not  walls 
be  so  prepajred  that  the  transitory  touch  of  air  can  imprint 
itself,  as  the  shadow  does  upon  a  daguerreotype  plate? 
The  process  of  preparation  may  be  a  little  difficult  to  dis- 
cover, but  it  would  not  be  much  more  strange  than  that 
by  which  pictures  are  made  of  shadows." 

"  I  am  afraid  the  invention  would  not  meet  with  equal 
favor  ;  for  who  would  dare  to  talk,"  said  Helen,  laughing, 
"if  conscious  that  every  word  would  be  preserved?" 

"  People  would  have  to  put  their  heads  in  a  box,  when 
they  wanted  to  tell  secrets,"  replied  Hubert,  "  and  then 
burn  the  box." 

"  Kindling  wood  would  be  plenty,  I  fear,"  said  Helen. 
"  But  hark  !  your  father  is  calling  us,  I  believe." 

They  went  back  to  the  place  where  the  family  was  wait- 
ing them,  and  after  a  little  social  chat  over  a  luncheon 
which  Mrs.  Warner  had  provided,  they  proceeded  to  the 
carriages.  Gus  was  ordered  to  take  a  seat  with  John, 
which  command  he  obeyed  with  many  an  antic  and  grin, 
and  Hubert  waited  till  they  had  started,  so  as  to  be  sure 
that  this  time,  at  least,  they  were  free  from  espionage. 

As  they  drove  slowly  along  the  sandy,  turf-grown  street, 
Helen  said  she  wished  she  had  taken  some  flowers  or 
leaves  as  a  memento  of  this  delightful  afternoon. 

"  It  is  not  yet  too  late,"  replied  Hubert,  "  for  yonder  is 
the  house  where  you  saw  that  veritable  ghost,  and  wc  will 
gather  a  bouquet  of  -\vild  roses  from  the  garden." 


THE     HAUNTED     HOUSE.  137 

"That  will  do  nicely,"  she  replied;  and  when  they 
reached  there,  Hubert  tied  his  horse  to  the  broken  fence, 
and  helped  her  from  the  chaise. 

The  gate  was  gone  from  the  front  garden,  but  the  paved 
walk  to  the  door  was  yet  visible,  amid  the  wilderness  of 
weeds  and  thorns  that  had  covered  the  beds  ;  and  they 
trod  lightly  over  it,  unconsciously  subdued  by  the  entire 
stniness  and  desolation  around  them. 

"  It  seems  uncanny  —  I  declare  I  am  half  afraid  to  be 
here,"  said  Helen,  in  a  low  tone,  as  they  paused  before 
the  front  door,  and  Hubert  commenced  pulling  down  the 
loses  that  clustered  over  it. 

"I  feel  the  ghostly  chill,  imsusceptible  as  I  am,"  re- 
plied he  ;  "  but  it  is  a  sort  of  a  stimulating  horror,  and  I 
have  a  strong  inclination  to  enter  and  beard  his  ghostship 
in  his  den. 

"  How  many  years  do  you  suppose  it  has  been  since 
these  heavy  shutters  were  unbarred  ?  —  by  mortal  hands  I 
mean,  for  of  course  these  '  airy  sprites '  let  in  the  moon- 
light when  they  please." 

As  he  spoke,  he  shook  the  lock  of  the  door,  and  it  gave 
way  in  his  hands  so  suddenly  that  he  nearly  lost  his 
balance. 

"  Why,  really,  this  wood  is  more  decayed  than  I  sup- 
posed," he  said,  as  he  examined  the  casements  whence  the 
rusty  iron  bolts  had  been  so  easily  withdrawn.  "  How  pale 
you  look,  Helen  !  Come,  let's  see  what  there  is  in  here." 
12* 


138  CASTE. 

He  took  her  hand  and  drew  her  into  the  hall.  It  was 
a  large,  square  house,  and  the  lofty  ceiling,  the  heavy 
cornices  and  carved  wood  work,  showed  that  it  must  have 
been  inhabited  by  persons  of  wealth.  Broad  stairs  as- 
cended on  one  side  to  the  second  story ;  and  through  a 
large  window  in  the  upper  hall,  now  without  glass  or 
shutters,  the  setting  sun  was  casting  long  rays  of  light 
along  the  dusty  air.  Cobwebs  blackened  the  walls,  and 
the  dust  which  they  had  disturbed  flew  in  clouds  around 
them.  Cautiously  pushing  open  a  door  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs  they  looked  into  a  large,  empty  room,  and  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  hall  was  one  of  similar  size.  From 
this  a  door  opened  into  another  room ;  and  as  they  entered 
it,  Helen  grasped  the  hand  she  held  ■«'ith  a  faint  exclama- 
tion.    Hubert  started  at  the  same  moment. 

"  Hush  !  do  you  hear  something  ?  "  said  he. 

"  I  certainly  heard  a  footstep,"  she  whispered. 

They  stood  still  and  listened,  and  had  nearly  concluded 
they  had  been  mistaken,  when  it  came  again.  It  was  a 
sound  in  the  room  over  them,  as  of  a  person  stepping  bare- 
footed across  the  floor.  Again  they  looked  at  each  other, 
and  Helen  was  so  pale  that  Hubert  said,  — 

"  You  do  not  really  believe  in  ghosts  ?  " 

"  No,  but  what  can  it  be  ?  Nobody  has  walked  these 
lower  floors  for  a  long  time  ;  for  I  noticed  particularly 
that  there  were  no  tracks  in  the  dust." 

"  True,"  said  Hubert,  struck  with  the  fact ;  "  and  yet 
it  m\ist  be  some  human  being,  or  perhaps  it  is  a  dog." 


THE     BLACK     SPIKIT.  139 

*'  It  was  not  like  a  dog's  step  ;  and  you  remember  that 
face  I  saw  at  the  window." 

"  It  may  be  a  negro,  only  I  never  saw  a  negro  who 
would  dare  go  into  a  house  that  had  the  reputation  of 
being  haunted.  I  will  go  with  you  out  of  this  dusty 
place  to  the  open  air,  and  then  examine  for  myself  what 
this  mystery  may  be." 

At  that  moment  they  heard  the  step  once  more,  but 
farther  away  than  before,  and  then  instantly  a  crash  and 
a  heavy  fall,  wliich  was  answered  by  a  thousand  echoes 
from  the  empty  rooms.  There  was  something  to  thrill 
the  stoutest  nerves  in  such  a  sound,  heard  in  that  dusky 
light,  in  that  lonely  spot ;  and,  grasping  Hubert's  arm, 
Helen  hurried  him  with  involuntary  speed  out  of  doors  ; 
but  when  there,  he  disengaged  himself,  and,  laughing  at 
her  panic,  bade  her  remain  there  while  he  returned  for  an 
explanation.  In  a  few  moments  he  reappeared  in  the 
upper  hall,  and  called  Helen  to  come  to  him. 

From  one  of  the  chambers  a  door  opened  into  an  en- 
try, from  which  stairs  descended  to  a  back  door,  that 
stood  sHghtly  ajar  ;  and  over  these  a  step-ladder  had  been 
fixed,  by  which  to  ascend  to  the  garret.  This,  untrodden 
for  years,  had  broken  from  its  fastenings  by  a  sudden 
weight,  and  carried  with  its  fall  the  unlucky  negro  who 
had  attempted  to  ascend  it.  He  lay  on  the  stairs,  as  if 
dead,  when  Hubert  found  him ;  but  having  dragged  him 
with   some   difficulty  into   the   chamber,  he   saw  that  he 


140 


began  to  breathe  faintly,  and  show  signs  of  returning 
consciousness. 

Helen,  with,  a  woman's  pity,  loosened  his  neck  hand- 
kerchief, and  then,  as  he  turned  his  face  to  the  light,  she 
started  back,  exclaiming,  "  It  is  Michel !  How  came  he 
here  ?  " 

"  Confound  that  Michel !  he  is  always  falling  into  my 
hands,"  said  Hubert,  with  good-natured  impatience. 

"You  surely  don't  regret  what  you  did  for  him,"  said 
Helen,  looking  reproachfully  at  her  lover. 

"  No.  Helping  runaway  niggers  isn't  the  business  I 
should  choose,  generally;  but  this  fellow's  circumstances 
were  peculiar,  and  the  man  who  hunted  him  had  placed 
us  in  an  awkward  and  perilous  position  ;  and  moreover,  it 
was  the  first  request  you  made  me,  and  it  would  have 
been  a  bad  precedent  not  to  have  granted  it.  But  what 
has  possessed  the  fellow  to  linger  around  here  so  long  ? 
and  why  need  he  try  running  up  that  ladder,  which  he 
might  have  known  would  fall  ?  It  is  a  wonder  he  didn't 
break  his  neck ;  and  now  if  he  has  broken  any  of  his 
bones,  what  shall  be  done  with  him  ?  If  the  negroes  get 
wind  of  the  affair,  it  Avill  get  out,  and  we  shall  be  in  an 
unpleasant  position,  unless  we  return  him  to  his  owner." 

"  You  surely  won't  think  of  doing  that,"  interrupted 
Helen. 

"  I  don't  want  to  ;  I  won't ;  but  how  am  I  to  take  care 
of  him  here  ?  You  know  I  must  leave  home  in  a  few 
days." 


AMATEUR     SURGERY.  141 

"  We  must  try  and  manage  some  way.     Poor  Kissy  !  " 

"  Ske  must  not  know  of  it,  unless  she  can  keep  it  from 
father  and  mother  ;  and  she  can't  do  that.  You  know  it 
would  not  do,  as  they  are  situated,  for  them  to  counte- 
nance such  proceedings  as  we  contemplate.  No,  the  mat- 
ter is  in  my  hands,  and  though  I  don't  think.  I  was  ex- 
actly cut  out  for  a  philanthropis.t,  I  will  try  and  act  the 
'  good  Samaritan'  for  this  once." 

"  Perhaps  he  isn't  hurt  so  badly  as  you  fear,"  Helen 
said ;  and  so  it  proved.  Michel  had  been  completely 
stunned,  and  it  was  some  time  before  he  recovered  his 
senses,  but  no  bones  were  broken,  and  at  first  he  thought 
himself  unhurt ;  but  when  he  attempted  to  walk,  he  ex- 
perienced such  an  intense  pain  in  liis  right  foot,  that  he 
sank  to  the  floor  with  a  groan. 

Hubert  examined  it,  and  found  the  ankle  bruised  and 
strained,  and  a  bunch  which  indicated  a  dislocation  of 
some  of  the  smaller  bones  of  the  foot.  His  knowledge 
of  surgery  was  very  slight,  but  he  manipulated  and  bound 
up  the  suffering  member  as  well  as  he  could,  with  the  aid 
of  Helen's  scarf.  Michel  looked  on  with  a  face  of  the 
most  intense  anxiety,  and  when  they  had  finished  he 
again  attempted  to  walk,  crossed  the  room  once  or  t^\-ice, 
lunping  badly,  and  then  sitting  down  on  the  floor,  covered 
his  face  with  his  hands,  and  burst  into  tears. 

Few  words  had  hitherto  passed  bctv.'een  them,  for  they 
had  all  been  too  anxious  and  hurried  for  conversation ;  but 


l42  CASTE. 

now,  touched  by  his  sorrow,  Hubert  laid  his  hand  kindly 
on  the  negro's  shoulder,  and  said  abruptly,  "  What,  Mi- 
chel !     Are  you  such  a  baby  as  to  cry  for  a  little  pain  ?  " 

"  O  massa,  'tain't  de  pain,''  said  Michel,  in  dejected 
tones ;  "  ef  it  'ud  ony  done  broke  my  arm,  now,  I 
wouldn't  cared ;  for  'pears  like  a  feUer's  arms  ain't  no 
'count,  much,  when  he's  walkin' ;  but  how's  I  ever  gwine 
git  away  to  de  free  state  -wid  dis  yer  foot  achin'  so,  and 
ony  t'other  foot  to  tote  me  ?  'Pears  like  there  ain't  nothin' 
I  can  do  now.     I  mought  as  well  die  as  any  thing." 

Hubert  and  Helen  looked  at  each  other  in  dismay ;  for 
it  was  plain  enough  that  Michel  could  do  no  more  walking 
for  some  time,  at  least ;  but  after  a  little  pause,  Helen 
said,  compassionately,  — 

"  Try  and  keep  your  courage,  Michel,  and  we  will  help 
you  as  far  as  we  can.  Can't  you  remain  here  till  your 
foot  is  better  ?     How  long  have  you  been  here  ?  " 

"  Thank'ee,  miss ;  I  ain't  been  here  so  bery  long  but 
what  I  mought  stay  longer ;  for  I  reckon  dere  ain't  so 
many  folks  wants  to  come  here  but  dere's  room  left  for 
me,"  said  Michel,  as  a  grim  smile  flitted  over  his  face. 
"  But  do  massa  ob  dis  house  don't  gib  his  boarders 
nothin'  to  eat,  and  I  dono  how  I'se  to  get  any  thing  more 
when  I  done  eat  up  what  Kissy  gib  me." 

"We  can  send  you  sometliing  to  cat,"  said  Hubert; 
"  how  long  will  your  provisions  last?  " 

"  I  reckon  I  can  make  'em  last  two,  three  days  longer." 


PHILOSOPHY.  143 

"  How  long  have  you  been  here  ?  " 

"  Ony  since  night  'fore  last." 

"  Why  did  you  stay  so  long  at  one  place  ?  "  said  Hu- 
bert, a  little  sternly.  "  I  thought  you  had  left  a  week 
ago." 

"  O,  please,  massa,  ebery  day  I  think  I'd  go,  and  Kissy 
she'd  coax  me  powerful  to  stay  one  day  more ;  and  'sides 
dat,  massa,  dere  ain't  half  de  danger  o'  bein'  catched 
when  I  does  get  started,  if  I  stay  roun'  here  a  while,  till 
dey  gets  tired  lookin'  for  me.  Dem  dogs  runs  like  de 
debil,  and  dere  ain't  mighty  little  use  tryin'  to  get  away 
from  'em.  De  safest  way  is  to  hide,  and  I  know'd  dey 
neber  would  look  for  me  here." 

"  So  you  staid  with  Kissy  till  you  were  afraid  to  stay 
longer,  and  then  came  here  ?  " 

"  Zactly,  massa,"  said  Michel,  who  began  to  be  in  better 
spirits,  as  he  saw  his  friends  intended  still  to  assist  him. 

"  Are  you  not  afraid  to  stay  here  alone  ?  "  asked  Helen, 
half  smiling. 

"  "Well,  now,  miss,  I  can't  zactly  say  I  ain't  't  all  scare," 
he  replied,  glancing  timidly  around  ;  "  but  den,  what's  a 
nigger  gwine  do  ?  I  must  go  somewhere,  and  if  dere  be 
sich  tinga  as  dey  tells  'bout  here,  I'se  in  hopes  dey  won't 
tetch  me.  I  ain't  neber  done  'em  no  harm,  and  least 
ways  I  neber  did  hear  tell  dat  dey  eber  toted  niggers  back 
to  dere  massas,  like  live  folks  does  most  allers.  So  you 
see  I  jist  makes  up  my  mind  I'm  safest  here,  any  way." 


144 


"  Plato,  thou  reasonest  well ;  "  exclaimed  Hubert, 
laughing.  "  I  didn't  give  you  credit  for  so  much  sense, 
and  I  am  pretty  sure  you  won't  find  any  thing  here  worse 
looking  than  yourself." 

"  Well,  massa,  ebery  ting  was  still  nuff  last  night." 

"  Then  if  you  will  stay  here,  where  they  Avill  never 
think  of  looking  for  you,  I  will  try  and  deAdse  some  means 
of  helping  you  away.  If  I  can,  I  will  buy  you,  and  take 
you  with  me  to  Cuba,  next  week.  You  won't  be  able  to 
walk  much  for  a  long  time,  probably,  and  if  you  should 
try  to  travel  in  the  woods,  your  foot  would  soon  become 
so  much  inflamed  that  you  could  not  use  it  at  all.  If  I 
can  get  you  to  Cuba,  where  you  can  have  a  doctor  attend 
to  it,  you  may  soon  get  well  enough  to  go  to  work,  and 
then  we  will  make  some  other  arrangement." 

"  O  massa,  I  Avon't  neber  run  away  from  you,"  said 
Michel,  eagerly. 

"  I  don't  mean  you  shall ;  for  you  may  arrange  matters 
to  suit  yourself.  You  are  a  brave  fellow,  and  deserve  to 
be  free.  I  will  send  John  to  you  in  a  day  or  two,  for  I 
think  I  can  trust  him ;  and  meantime,  you  can  keep  quiet 
here,  and  mind  you  don't  let  any  body  see  you.  Don't 
speak  to  any  stray  nigger  that  may  come  along." 

"I'll  be  careful,  massa;  and  you  don't  know  howl 
thanks  yer  for  what  yer  done,  and  what  you'se  gwine  do. 
I  hopes  some  time  I  ken  show  yer  how  I  blesses  yer  —  I 
can't  neber  tell." 


LEFTAI.  ONE.  145 

"  Well,  keep  up  a  good  heart,  and  you'll  come  out  of 
this  scrape,  in  spite  of  your  lame  foot,"  said  Hubert,  giv- 
ing him  his  hand,  which  the  poor  fellow  pressed  to  his 
lips,  with  tears  of  gratitude  ;  and  after  a  few  more  words, 
his  friends  left  him,  for  the  short  twilight  was  now  fading, 
and  they  were  anxious  not  to  be  too  far  behind  the  rest 
of  their  party,  lest  their  absence  should  be  noticed  and 
commented  upon. 

"  That  Michel  is  a  fellow  of  mettle,"  said  Hubert,  as, 
having  carefully  closed  the  door,  he  joined  Helen  at  thp 
carriage.  "  I  saw  his  heart  sank  -within  him,  as  we  came 
away ;  but  there  he  will  remain,  though  no  doubt  he  ex- 
pects to  battle  with  the  powers  of  darkness.  If  he  can 
do  this  for  the  sake  of  being  free,  he  deserves  his  free- 
dom, and  he  shall  have  it.  To  appreciate  his  courage, 
one  must  know  how  devoutly  the  negroes  believe  in  spir- 
its, and  how  mortally  they  fear  them." 

"  I  shouldn't  like  to  stay  there  alone,"  said  Helen, 
looking  back,  as  they  drove  away.  "  Nothing  less  than 
the  evils  he  dreads  could  induce  me  to  remain  there  in 
utter  darkness  and  loneliness  ;  and  I  fear  his  foot  will  be 
very  painful ;  such  injuries  are  apt  to  be." 

"  Poor  fellow  !  between  his  fears  and  his  pains,  he  will 
have  a  hard  time,"  said  Hubert ;  "  but  I  don't  know  that 
we  can  do  any  better  for  him.  His  only  safety  lies  in 
concealment." 

13 


CHAPTER    EIGHTH. 

"  Existence  may  be  'bome,  and  the  deep  root 
Of  life  and  sufferance  makes  its  firm  abode 
In  bare  and  desolated  bosoms.    *    *    *    * 
But  ever  and  anon,  of  griefs  subdued 
There  comee  a  token  like  a  scorpion's  sting, 
,  Scarce  seen,  but  with  fresh  bitterness  endured." 

Deep  hidden  in  a  shadowy  nook  of  the  forest  stood  a 
lowly  cottage,  overgrown  with  vines,  and  surrounded  by 
a  small  garden,  where  straggling  weeds  and  bushes  grew 
together,  covering  the  ill-kept  beds,  and  obtruding  their 
tangled  branches  into  the  grass-grown  walks.  A  winding 
footpath,  evidently  little  trodden,  led  from  the  county 
road  half  a  mile  away,  to  this  lonely  dwelling,  inhabited 
only  by  an  old  negro  and  his  wife,  who,  infirm  and  half 
blind,  were  content  to  vegetate  here,  — 

"The  world  forgetting,  by  the  world  forgot." 

They  were  seated  together  on  the  doorstep,  silently 
smoking  their  pipes,  and  basking  in  the  sunshine  of  this 
warm  May  afternoon,  when  they  saw  a  traveller  on  horse- 
back slowly  approaching  through  the  trees. 

"  Somebody  done  loss  dcre  way,  I  reckon,"  said  the  old 


DARBY     AND    JOAN.  147 

man,  sententiously,  as  he  removed  the  stump  of  his  pipe, 
and  stared  at  the  unwonted  appearance. 

"Don't  see  nothing,"  replied  his  -wife,  blinking  through 
the  smoke  with  her  dim  eyes. 

"  You !  yer  old  blind  nigger  !  who  spected  yer  did 
see  ?  Dere  somebody  comin'  by,  though  ;  comin'  here, 
too  ;  done  got  off  he  horse.  By  de  Lord,"  added  the  old 
man,  starting  up  mth  sudden  vivacity  of  tone  and  man- 
ner, "  I  'clare  for  goodness,  I  b'lieves  it  am  massa." 

He  hobbled  towards  the  gate,  where  the  traveller  was 
now  dismounting ;  his  wife  followed,  as  fast  as  her 
rheumatic  limbs  would  allow  of  locomotion ;  but  the 
horse  was  hitched,  and  the  gate  opened,  before  they  could 
proffer  their  services,  and  Colonel  Bell  —  for  it  was  he 
—  advanced  towards  them,  and  holding  out  a  hand  to 
each,  spoke  in  a  cordial  and  cheerful  tone ;  to  which  they 
responded  by  repeating  a  dozen  times,  "  Bress  you,  colo- 
nel, massa ;  you  done  come  back  see  de  ole  place  once 
more  ;  how  d'ye,  massa,  dis  long  time  ?  how  d'ye,  now  ? 
Ole  place  look  pretty  well,  'siderin' ;  we  does  bes'  we 
ken,  but  we'se  gettin'  ole,  massa." 

"  You  have  been  getting  old  this  some  time  past,"  said 
the  colonel  at  length,  with  a  sad  smile,  as  they  went  up 
the  walk  together.  "  You  are  comfortable  here,  aren't  you  ? 
The  overseer  keeps  you  supplied  from  the  plantation  ?  " 

"  Yes,  massa,  we'se  comfor'ble,  but  we'se  gettin  ole. 
Aunt  Hepsy  here,  she  mos'  blind,  and  I'se  lame,  but 
we'se  comfor'ble  —  O,  yes." 


148  CASTE. 

"  O,  yes,  we'se  comfor'ble,"  chimed  in  tlie  old  wife,  and 
they  both  shook  their  gray  wool,  and  sat  down  again  on 
the  doorstep,  over  which  their  master  had  passed  into  the 
house,  casting  a  thoughtful  glance  at  each  other,  and  a 
compassionate  one  back  at  him.  He  noticed  it  with  a 
sigh,  almost  of  envy,  at  the  contented  old  age  of  this 
humble  pair.  They  heard  the  sigh,  and  thinking  it  was 
given  to  the  memories  that  had  drawn  him  thither,  the 
negro  said  respectfully,  — 

"  De  key  am  hangin'  in  de  ole  place,  massa.  I  knows 
ye  don't  neber  feel  like  talkin'  when  yer  comes  here  now  ; 
but  we'se  powerful  glad  to  see  yer,  and  so  we  keeps  chat- 
terin'.  De  ole  woman  takes  de  key  wunst  in  a  while,  to 
see  dat  ebery  ting  am  right  in  de  rooms  ;  but  she  don't 
neber  tetch  no  thin'." 

As  he  spoke,  Colonel  Bell  turned  towards  a  door  at  the 
opposite  end  of  the  little  room  where  he  stood,  which 
was  furnished  in  the  most  simple  manner,  and  evidently 
sei-ved  for  parlor,  bedroom,  and  kitchen,  to  its  inhabitants. 
Beside  the  door  hung  a  key,  which  he  took  from  its  nail, 
and,  turning  it  in  the  lock,  entered  the  adjoining  apart- 
ment. There  were  no  shiitters  to  the  windows,  but  the 
luxuriant  \-ines  formed  a  screen  without,  and  within  white 
muslin  curtains,  overhung  with  damask  draperies,  let  in 
the  softened  light.  This  little  parlor  was  one  of  a  suit 
of  rooms,  all  tiny  in  their  proportions,  but  furnished  ynik 
such  exquisite  taste  and  luxuiy,  that  to  enter  them  from 


MEMORIES.  149 

the  rude  antechamber,  seemed  like  stepping  from  the 
every- day  world  into  a  fairy  palace.  But  dust  lay  on  the 
precious  things,  and  the  air  was  close  and  heavy,  as  if  for 
many  years  its  stillness  had  been  unbroken  by  any  breeze 
from  the  outer  atmosphere. 

Colonel  Bell  stood  still,  and,  looking  about  him,  yielded 
himself  entirely  to  the  recollections  which  thronged  every 
moment  more  rapidly,  and  finding  a  melancholy  pleasure, 
even  in  his  pain. 

In  one  corner  a  fanciful  case  of  ebony  held  some  choice 
books ;  here  and  there  chairs  of  curious  device  invited 
him  to  rest ;  a  few  pictures  on  the  walls  led  the  eye  away 
into  shadowy  valleys,  or  smiling,  sunlit  plains ;  on  the 
table  stood  a  workbox,  inlaid  with  pearl.  It  was  half 
open,  and  in  its  velvet  compartments  lay  a  handkerchief 
of  linen  cambric,  with  a  tiny  gold  thimble  carelessly 
caught  in  its  folds,  just  as  it  had  been  left  when  the  busy 
worker  was  summoned  hastily  away  to  fold  her  hands  in 
death.  A  guitar  case  hung  over  the  mantel-piece.  He 
opened  it,  and  the  faded  pink  ribbon  attached  to  the  in- 
strument fluttered  down  and  fell  on  his  face  Avith  a  caress- 
ing touch,  that  thrilled  him  like  a  welcome  from  some 
living  thing.  He  struck  a  few  notes,  but  they  sounded 
like  a  requiem,  and  he  closed  the  case  with  a  smothered 
groan,  and  went  his  way,  pacing  with  stealthy  steps 
through  the  apartment,  and  thinking  how  every  thing  that 
13* 


150  CASTE. 

met  liis  eye  was  connected  with  hope,  happiness,  and 
love,  which  had  gone  from  him  forever. 

In  the  innermost  room,  where,  from  a  silver  arrow  fas- 
tened to  the  ceiling,  clouds  of  lace  fell  down  to  shroud  a 
bed  whose  snowy  whiteness  mortal  form  should  never 
press  again,  several  pictures  hung  upon  the  walls,  hidden 
by  curtains  from  the  light  and  dust.  He  raised  the  dra- 
pery, and  looked  at  each  successively.  They  were  simple 
dra\vings,  done  in  crayon  or  colored  chalk,  and  betokening 
more  genius  than  culture.  Why  were  they  so  much  more 
valuable  than  the  paintings  in  the  parlor,  which  were  gems 
of  art  ?  O,  he  remembered  the  still,  green  places,  where 
a  laughing  face  had  looked  up  to  his,  as  he  guided  the  un- 
skilled fingers  in  the  mysteries  of  design ;  and  he  smiled 
sadly  as  he  seemed  again  to  hear  the  piquant  utterance, 
the  flashes  of  nurth,  the  eager  anxiety  to  please  him,  and 
the  delight  in  his  approbation  that  had  made  those  draw- 
ing lessons  treasures  which  no  money  could  purchase. 

It  was  a  strange  thing,  this  one  love  of  his  life,  which 
could  survive  tune  and  the  grave,  and  even  now  sway 
with  warm  impulses  a  heart  the  world  had  indurated  and 
worn  out.  Before  the  last  picture  he  paused  longest.  It 
was  a  portrait  of  himself,  when  he  was  much  younger 
than  now,  and  a  far  different  man  ;  but  it  was  not  at  his 
o^^-n  face  he  looked,  though  that  might  well  have  made 
him  thoughtful.  Beliind  his  face  another  was  drawn,  as 
if  looking    over    his    shoulder ;    faintly    drawn,  and  left 


THE     MAN     HU>7TEE.  151 

unfinished ;  but  these  shadowy  lineaments  had  power  to 
move  him  to  tears.  It  was  the  picture  of  a  girlish  beauty, 
^vith  smiling  lips,  and  deep,  thoughtful  eyes.  God  had 
been  merciful  to  her,  and  she  had  died  young. 

After  an  hour  spent  thus,  Colonel  Bell  unlocked  a  side 
door  which  opened  into  the  garden,  and  getting  over  the 
low  fence,  bent  his  steps  towards  a  monument  of  white 
marble,  which  gleamed  through  the  shining  green  of  the 
oaks  that  grew  around  the  little  knoll  Avherc  it  stood, 
just  Adsible  from  the  house.  Walldng  slowly  along, 
wrapped  in  reveries  of  the  past,  he  hardly  raised  his  eyes 
from  the  ground  until  he  entered  the  circle  of  trees ;  and 
then  what  was  his  astonishment  to  see,  in  this  place  which 
he  had  expected  to  find  so  solitary,  a  stranger  seated  on  the 
turf,  with  his  head  resting  against  the  marble  ! 

At  the  sound  of  his  footsteps  the  man  looked  up,  and 
with  a  faint  exclamation  rose  to  his  feet  and  held  out  his 
hand.  Colonel  Bell  barely  touched  it,  with  a  cold  civility, 
and  then  first  finding  words  for  his  surprise,  he  ejacu- 
lated, — 
i>n."  Robert  Bernard !  here  ?  " 

"To  be  sure,"  replied  the  man,  rather  testily.  "Do 
you  suppose  nobody  comes  here  but  yourself?  " 

Colonel  Bell,  leaning  his  elbow  against  the  monimient, 
looked  at  him  a  long  time,  dreamily  and  sadly,  as  if  he 
was  striving  to  sepai-ate  the  images  of  the  past  from  the 
haish  realities  of  the  present,  to  which    this  voice   and 


152  CASTE. 

figure  had  recalled  Mm.  Presently  lie  said,  not  un- 
kindly, — 

"  It  is  several  years  since  I  have  been  here.  I  supposed 
every  body  else  had  quite  forgotten  her.  Do  you  come 
often  ?  " 

"Not  very;  it's  too  still  and  ghostlike  here.  But  I 
saw  something  t'other  day  that  made  me  want  to  see,  with 
my  own  eyes,  if  this  yer  stone  stood  square  and  firm 
where  we  put  it." 

"  Why  ? " 

"  Because  I  half  expected   to   see    it   pushed  askew, 

and   the   hole    underneath  empty ;   for,  William  Bell,  I 

saw  her  very  image,  face  and  form,    living   and  breath- 
er™ " 
mg. 

"  You  must  be  mistaken,"  said  Colonel  Bell,  uneasily. 

"  Mistaken  !  Do  you  suppose  I  don't  remember  Go- 
rilla ?     Do  you  suppose  I  shouldn't  know  her  again  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  People  are  often  very  like  each 
other  when  there  isn't  the  slightest  relationship." 

"  But  here  there  was  relationship.  William  Bell,  them 
two  children  didn't  die  as  you  told  me  they  did.  I  sus- 
pected it  then,  and  I  know  it  now ;  and  you  know  it  too. 
I  see  it  in  your  face." 

"You  are  talking  the  most  perfect  nonsense,"  said 
Colonel  Bell,  trying  to  tlisguise  his  inquietude.  "  They 
are  dead  ;  she  is  dead ;  every  body  is  dead.  Come,  let 
us  come  away  from  here." 


REVENGE.  '  ,">o 

Tlicy  walked  away  in  a  direction  thai  d  Ihnn  tiie  rn!  - 
tagc,  but  Bernard  still  persisted. 

"  If  you  really  think  so,  you  are  mistaken.  Corilla's 
child  is  living  at  Mr.  Warner's,  and  passes  for  white.  If 
you  don't  believe  me  you  can  go  there  and  see." 

"  How  came  you  there  ?  "  said  the.  colonel,  with  some 
asperity. 

"No  matter  how,"  replied  Bernard,  a  blush  of  shame 
crossing  his  sunburnt  visage.  "  I  went  there,  and  I  was 
insulted,  and  I  mean  to  be  revenged.  At  first  I  was 
ready  to  kill  young  Warner  —  he  treated  me  like  a  dog 
—  but  when  I  came  to  reflect  upon  it,  blood  is  hard  to 
keep  hid,  and  no  man  likes  the  set  of  a  hemp  cravat ;  and 
besides,  I  hung  round  there  till  I  found  an  easier  way  of 
making  him  smart.  He'll  take  care  next  time  how  he 
kicks  me,  I  reckon." 

"  What  do  you  mean  to  do  ?  "  asked  his  companion, 
anxiously. 

"  I  find  he  means  to  marry  that  girl.  Hubert  don't 
know  who  she  is,  and  I  reckon  she  don't  know  either. 
I  was  just  coming  over  here  to  see  you  about  it,  for  I  may 
need  your  testimony,  as  I  suppose  they'd  bring  it  into 
court,  before  they  would  give  up  that  she  was  a  nigger. 
Jingoes  !  won't  I  humble  their  pride  ?  —  won't  I  make  my 
gentleman  squirm  ?  " 

"  Bernard,  do  you  forget  that  if  your  suspicion  is  true 
she  is  my  child  also  ?  "  said  the  colonel,  in  a  tone  that 


154  CAS  IE. 

made  Lis  companion  start,  and  look  at  him  with  a  puz- 
zled air. 

"  Yes,  I  know.  But  you  gentlemen  don't  generally 
make  much  count  of  them  kind  of  children  ;  except  to 
ask  a  high  price  for  them  sometimes  on  account  of  the 
breed,"  he  added,  A\ith  a  brutal  laugh. 

Colonel  Bell  suppressed  his  disgust,  and  replied  calmly, 
"  But  you  cannot  think  I  would  take  the  pains  you  sup- 
pose me  to  have  taken,  if  I  did  not  intend  that  these  chil- 
dren should  never  know  of  their  obscure  birth." 

"  Well,  now,"  replied  he,  hesitating,  "  I  know  you  did 
really  like  Gorilla,  and  no  mistake,  and  you  seemed  pow- 
erfully cut  dowa  when  she  died ;  and  so  for  her  sake  I 
suppose  you  do  have  a  diflferent  sort  of  feeling  for  her 
children  from  what  most  men  would  have.  But  then  I 
thought  you  wouldn't  carry  it  so  far  as  to  spite  an  old 
friend ;  and  my  heart  is  set  on  this  business,  colonel.  The 
girl  can't  be  half  so  much  to  you  as  my  plan  is  to  me. 
Come  now,  say  you  will  stand  by  a  fellow,  for  the  sake 
of  old  times."  Bernard's  utter  brutality  and  obtuseness 
disarmed  the  anger  they  provoked,  and  yet  his  companion 
remembered  with  a  shudder,  that  a  word,  a  breath,  from 
this  depraved  creature,  could  blast  his  dearest  hopes  ;  and 
a  cold  sweat  gathered  on  his  forehead  as  he  walked  on, 
without  replying. 

At  length,  with  a  total  change  of  manner,  he  said,  "  It 
is  at  least  a  dozen  years  since  I  saw  you.  Bob.     What 


TEMPORIZING.  155 

have  you  been  doing  with  yourself  all  this  time  ?  You 
don't  look  quite  in  the  trim  you  used  to,  when  we  were 
schoolmates  and  cronies." 

"No,"  replied  the  other,  vnth.  an  oath,  "my  father 
wasn't  made  of  money,  and  my  wife  didn't  die  and  leave 
me  five  or  six  plantations ;  and  so  while  you  have  been 
swimming,  I  have  sunk." 

"  And  now  —  excuse  me  —  you  are  poor  ?  " 

"  You  may  well  say  that  —  Job  Avas  a  fool  to  me  for 
poverty." 

"  Where  do  you  live  ?  Have  you  been  stapng  in  this 
part  of  the  country  ?  " 

"  Lately  I  have.  I've  seen  you  sometimes  when  you 
haven't  noticed  me  " 

"  Have  you  ?  Where  were  you  ?  What  is  your  busi- 
ness now  ? " 

"  Well,"  said  Bernard,  looking  down,  "  my  business 
ain't  exactly  what  you  aristocratic  gents  like  to  keep 
company  with ;  though,  hang  it,  if  I  can  see  anj'^differ- 
ence  between  hunting  niggers  and  keeping  'em  to  be 
hunted.     I  keep  dogs." 

Almost  involuntarily  Colonel  Bell  shrank  from  him, 
exclaiming,  "  Is  it  possible  you  have  come  to  this  ?  You, 
the  son  of  a  gentleman  !  " 

"  Well,  now,  what  is  the  harm  of  it  ?  "  said  the  man, 
with  a  bravado  air.  "  Your  niggers  run  away,  you  send 
me  after  'em  with  my  dogs,  and  I  catch  'em.     What  right 


156  CASTE. 

have  you,  and  the  like  of  you,  to  stick  up  your  noses 
at  me?" 

"  I  disapprove  of  such  things  altogether,"  said  Colonel 
Bell,  seriously. 

"  If  you  do,  your  neighbors  don't ;  and,  by  the  way,  it 
was  one  of  your  niggers  I  was  after  when  I  went  to  Mr. 
Warner's,  and  so  happened  to  get  sight  of  that  girl. 
Hang  me,  if  I  didn't  think  it  was  Gorilla  herself.  I 
never  was  so  struck  up  in  my  life." 

"  I  have  sold  none  of  my  servants  lately.  You  must 
be  mistaken  about  that,"  said  the  colonel. 

"  Your  wife  has,  then  —  a  fellow  by  the  name  of  Michel. 
Mr.  Warner  owns  his  wife,  and  the  dogs  tracked  him 
there,  and  I  should  have  got  him  if  they  hadn't  protected 
him." 

"  My  wife  !  "  murmured  the  colonel.  "  Ay,  I'll  war- 
rant there  can  be  no  mischief  to  me  that  she  hasn't  a 
hand  in." 

"  What's  that  you're  saying  ?  "  asked  Bernard. 

"Nothing.  But  tell  me,  would  you  not  rather  be 
rich,  and  live  at  your  ease,  and  be  received  in  the  society 
you  used  to  frequent  when  we  were  so  intimate,  than  to 
live  as  you  do  now  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure  I  Avould.  I  ain't  a  fool.  But  when  a 
man  once  gets  well  down,  he  can't  get  up  again  very 
easy." 

"  But  suppose  a  friend  should   help  him  up,  and  set 


AriioPosiTiON.  '      157 

him  on  his  feet.  Suppose  I,  who  have  more  money  than 
I  know  what  to  do  with,  should  give  you  the  suqilus,  and 
introduce  you  into  society." 

The  man  looked  at  him  askance  a  moment,  and  said, 
with  a  leer,  "  Out  of  pure  friendship,  of  course  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  because  a  gentleman  can  have  more  honora- 
ble revenge  upon  one  who  has  offended  him  than  by  tra- 
ducing and  insulting  a  defenceless  girl." 

"  But  don't  you  see  that  I  couldn't  call  him  to  account 
for  this  offence,  without  losing  all  my  new-found  respecta- 
bility ;  and  it  is  for  this  I  want  to  get  him  under  my  feet 
—  I  want  to  touch  him  in  the  tenderest  place.  He  would 
rather  fight  fifty  duels  than  see  her  belong  to  me  ;  and 
hang  it  if  I  don't  buy  her  the  minute  she's  in  the  market," 
he  said,  snappmg  his  fingers,  with  a  savage  grin. 

A  lurid  gleam  shot  like  lightning  athwart 'his  com- 
panion's face,  but  he  restrained  himself  by  a  strong  effort, 
and  replied,  "  Yet  the  revenge  will  be  soon  over,  and  per- 
haps he  would  thank  you  after  all  for  saving  him  from  the 
disgrace  of  a  marriage  with  one  of  the  inferior  race." 

"  Hang  it !  so  he  might.  I  never  thought  of  that," 
exclaimed  Bernard,  with  an  expression  of  chagrin. 

"  Nothing  is  more  likely,"  replied  the  colonel,  pursuing 
this  unexpected  advantage  ;  "  for  if  your  suspicions  arc 
correct,  it  would  only  be  an  act  of  friendship  to  tell  him 
of  them." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  William  Bell ;  you  don't  hum- 
14 


4§8  CASTE. 

bug  me  with  all  this  talk  about  suspicions,  and  the  like 
of  that,"  said  Bernard,  suddenly,  after  a  short  pause. 
"  For  some  reason  or  other  you  want  me  to  keep  this 
secret.  Now  tell  me  what  you'll  give  me  to  hold  my 
tongue." 

"  How  much  will  you  take  ? "  replied  he,  infinitely 
relieved  to  find  his  companion  had  no  scruples  of  delicacy 
with  regard  to  being  purchased. 

"  Let  me  see.  Say  five  thousand  dollars  down,  and  the 
rest  we  can  agree  about  six  months  hence.  I  can't 
quite  conclude  in  a  minute  what  I  shall  do  with  myself, 
and  so  I  can't  tell  how  much  I  shall  want.  You'll  be 
liberal,  of  course  ?  " 

"  Any  thing  in  reason.  Your  present  terms  I  agree  to 
willingly,  and  you  will  bind  yourself  for  these  considera- 
tions never  to  breathe  to  any  mortal  your  suspicions  re- 
specting this  young  lady." 

"  For  that  matter,  I  reckon  my  word  is  as  good  as  my 
bond,"  said  Bernard,  with  a  short  laugh ;  "  but  we  are 
old  friends,  and  I'll  play  fair  with  you.  But  now  tell  me 
honestly,  what  can  induce  you  to  make  this  bargain  if 
you  don't  know  I  can  prove  that  girl  to  be  Gorilla's 
child  ?  " 

"  Because  it  would  be  very  unpleasant  for  me  to  be 
drawn  into  such  an  affair  with  a  family  so  respectable  as 
the  Warners,  and  I  like  this  young  lady  so  well  that  I 
should  be  sorry  to  have  her  annoyed.     It  would  be  in 


A     BARGAIN.  159 

some  sort  a  disgrace,  though  you  could  prove  nothing, 
and  there  are  always  ill-natured  persons  who  are  ready  to 
believe  any  scandal,  however  unfounded." 

"  O,  humbug  !  how  disinterested  we  are ! "  said  Ber- 
nard, with  a  side  glance.  "  If  that's  all,  I  don't  think  it 
will  pay  to  sell  out.     I  reckon  1*11  stick  to  my  revenge." 

"  As  you  like,"  replied  Colonel  Bell,  coldly. 

His  conipanion  looked  at  him  earnestly,  but  could 
make  nothing  of  the  expression  of  his  downcast  face ; 
and  they  walked  on  in  silence,  a  struggle  going  on  be- 
tween hatred  and  avarice,  in  which  the  latter  proved  vic- 
torious. He  said,  at  length,  stopping  as  they  reached  a 
turn  in  the  path,  — 

"  I'll  come  up  to  your  place  and  see  you  about  this 
business ;  and  you  mil  be  ready  to  shell  out,  in  case  I 
conclude  to  give  up  my  suspicions?  " 

"  Certainly  ;  come  at  any  time  ;  but  meanwhile  be  care- 
ful Avhat  you  say,  for  the  winds  carry  such  matters,  and  if 
you  whisper  it  in  a  corner  I  shall  hear  it." 

"  I'll  be  mum  as  a  coffin  lid,"  replied  the  other,  with  a 
laugh. 

"  You  couldn't  come  doAvn  noio  with  a  little  of  the  yel- 
lowy dust,  by  way  of  premium,  could  you? " 

Colonel  Bell  drew  from  his  pocket  his  purse,  which 
was  heavy  with  gold  and  silver,  and  poured  the  pieces 
in  his  outspread  hand.  Bernard  clutched  them  eagerly, 
but  seemed  at  the  same  time  to  be  half  ashamed,  and, 


160  CASTE. 

when  lie  had  transferred  tliem  to  his  own  pocket,  mur- 
mured something  about  seeing  the  colonel  in  a  few  days, 
and  turned  abruptly  away,  mth  a  hasty  good  by. 

Colonel  Bell  looked  after  him  with  an  expression  of 
surprise,  mingled  ^vith  strong  disgust.  "  Is  it  possible  ?  " 
he  said,  half  aloud,  "  that  this  vulgar  ^^Tetch  was  once  my 
friend,  my  confidant,  the  sole  companion  to  whom  I  gave 
the  entree  of  the  paradise  where  I  lived  with  Gorilla!" 
And  then,  as  that  name  recalled  the  sweet  and  tender 
thoughts  he  had  been  indulging  before  he  met  Bernard, 
Ms  face  gradually  softened,  and,'  mth  do^^^lcast  eyes  and 
a  meditative  air,  he  retraced  his  steps  to  the  cottage. 

The  old  servant  ^^as  waiting  at  the  gate,  for  he  had 
watched  his  master  go  towards  the  tomb,  and  was  sur- 
prised to  see  him  approach  from  another  direction. 

"  Hope  massa  find  ebery  ting  all  right,"  he  said,  a  little 
anxiously.  "  Done  gone  on  tree  year  since  massa  here 
'fore,  and  Hepsy  and  me,  we'se  gittin'  ole." 

"  Every  thing  is  right,  so  far  as  youi-  care  is  concenicd," 
replied  Colonel  Bell,  giving  him  the  keys.  "  You  must 
try  and  hold  on  as  long  as  you  can,  Martin,  you  and 
Hepsy ;  for  it  would  annoy  me  to  have  any  now  hands 
about  the  old  place,"  he  added,  with  a  slight  sigh.  "  I 
shall  have  to  bum  it  down  when  you  go." 

"Yes,  massa,"  said  Martin,  cheerfully;  "massa  may 
'pend  on  us.  We'll  hole  on  to  de  bcry  las'  brcf,  an'  den 
die  kickin'." 


DESOLATION.  161 

"  You  shall  have  every  thing  you  need  to  make  you 
comfortable,"  continued  the  colonel,  "  and  if  I  go  away, 
I  will  leave  you  in  the  care  of  a  competent  person,  who 
Avill  supply  your  wants.  Good  by,  now,  and  take  care 
of  yourselves." 

"Good  by,  massa,"  replied  the  negro;  and  as  his 
master  rode  away,  he  added,  with  a  sorrowful  shake  of 
the  head,  "  It's  'mazin'  strange,  but  'pears  like  massa  has 
smoked  out  all  he  'baccy,  an'  broke  he  pipe ;  "  and  this 
metaphor,  which  expressed  more  fully  than  any  other 
image  old  Martin's  idea  of  utter  destitution  and  loss, 
portrayed  the  colonel's  situation  with  a  fidelity  of  which 
his  simple  soul  could  hardly  conceive. 
14* 


CHAPTER    NINTH 


"If  ladies  he  but  young  and  fair, 
They  hare  the  gift  to  know  it." 

*  *  *  * 

"  0,  what  a  deal  of  scorn  looks  beautiful 
In  the  contempt  and  anger  of  her  lip ! " 

*  *  S:  * 

"  How  oft  the  sight  of  means  to  do  ill  deeds 
Makes  ill  deeds  done !  " 


At  the  same  hour  that  Michel  was  left  alone  in  the 
deserted  village,  the  haughty  and  beautiful  wife  of  Colonel 
Bell  was  pacing  with  a  slow,  languid  step  across  the  gor- 
geous carpet  which  covered  the  floor  of  her  drawing 
rooms.  The  fading  daylight  came  in  through  the  lofty 
windows,  shaded  by  damask  and  lace  of  the  costliest  tex- 
ture, and  all  the  furniture  of  the  apartment  was  in  a  cor- 
responding style  of  elegance  and  luxury.  The  house  had 
been  originally  a  square  stone  building,  constructed  for 
defence  as  well  as  for  shelter,  and  bearing  yet,  in  some 
places,  the  marks  of  battle.  For  in  the  bygone  days  the 
Indian  war  cry  had  made  its  inhabitants  tremble  behind 
their  barricaded  doors  and  windows  ;  and  later  still,  those 
windows  had  been  pierced  with  loopholes,  from  whence 
Marion  and  his  sharp  shooters  had  kept  at  bay  the  merce- 
nary troops  of  the  ferocious   Tarleton ;    when,  for  three 

(1('2) 


'Vl. 


A    plaxtek's    HoirsE*,*v  163 


days,  the  house  was  a  besieged  fortress,  and  the  lead  of 
the  clock  weights,  and  the  pewter  dishes,  and  at  last  even 
the  silver,  had  to  be  cast  into  bullets,  before  relief  came. 
But  it  was  the  pride  of  its  owners,  that  it  had  never 
passed  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy ;  and  in  the  more 
fearful  years  that  succeeded,  one  generation  after  another 
had  improved  the  grounds  around  it,  and  added  wings 
and  outbuildings,  in  more  ornamental  styles  of  architec- 
ture, to  relieve  its  massive  gloom.  The  windows  had 
been  enlarged,  and  the  rooms  thrown  together  by  folding 
doors  and  arches,  and  now  the  whole  was  furnished  \ 
with  all  of  ease,  and  embellishment,  which  wealth  could 
procure.  Rare  statuary,  and  articles  of  virtu,  Avere  scat- 
tered around  with  *  lavish  hand ;  pictures,  that  betrayed 
a  master's  touch,  hung  on  the  walls ;  and  large  mirrors, 
artistically  arranged,  multiplied  all  this  tasteful  magnifi- 
cence. 

Through  these  rooms  the  lady  wandered ;  and  as  her 
eye  fell  on  each  familiar  object,  as  she  glanced  in  each 
mirror  to  see  the  reflection  of  her  own  queenly  beauty, 
clad  as  she  was  in  robes  of  silk,  and  decked  with  jewels, 
the  expression  of  ennui  that  clouded  her  broAv  grew  more 
intense,  and,  pausing  at  last  with  a  gesture  of  impatience, 
she  exclaimed,  "  Bah !  what  use  is  it  to  have  all  this  ? 
There  is  nobody  in  this  corner  of  the  world  for  whom  it 
is  worth  while  to  make  a  show ;  the  simple  fools  don't 
know  enough  of  the  vahie  of  things  even  to  envy  me. 


v*^ 


F 


164  CASTE. 

Envy  me,"  she  added,  sighing,  after  another  pause; 
"they  Avonld  be  still  greater  fools  if  they  did.  I  might 
as  well  be  Bluebeard's  Mife,  for  any  enjoyment  I  have. 
Miserable  simpleton  that  I  was  to  marry  Mm !  If  my  poor 
father  had  only  taken  me  to  England  himself,  instead  of 
sending  me  trammelled  with  a  husband  —  good  heavens ! 
to  think  what  my  beauty  might  have  been  worth  to  me 

there !  " 

She  wrung  her  jewelled  hands,  as  these  broken  sen- 
tences fell  from  her  lips,  and  sinking  into  a  chair  that 
stood  near,  seemed  for  a  long  time  lost  in  reveries  of 
mingled  pain  and  pleasure.  When  the  thread  of  thought 
brought  her  back  to  the  present  hour,  she  found  herself 
sitting  in  darkness ;  and  rising  A^dth  a  yawn,  she  rang  the 
bell,  and  having  ordered  lights,  went  up  stairs  to  her  own 
boudoir. 

Every  thing  here,  too,  manifested  artistic  taste  and  ele- 
gance; but  the  mistress  of  this  sumptuous  retreat  re- 
garded it  with  the  same  weary  indiflference  with  which 
she  had  walked  through  the  rooms  below.  There  was  no 
soul  in  all  this  wealth.  It  was  not  the  gift  of  one  loving 
heart  to  another.  It  was  not  the  reckless  profusion  of  an 
affection  which  would  win  the  choicest  gifts  of  earth  to 
deck  the  home  of  its  idol.  It  was  mere  ostentation,  and 
she  knew  it;  and,  Httle  as  Clara  Bell  could  have  repaid 
to  love,  she  would  still  have  been  abundantly  gratified  by 
such  homage ;  and,  though  she  almost  hated  her  husband, 


HAND     AV  I  T  il  O  U  T     HEART.  1 G5 

her  craving  vanity  was  pained  in  remembering,  as  she  ca^t 
her  eye  over  this  array  of  riches,  that  all  had  been  ar- 
ranged without  one  reference  to  her  wishes  or  her  fancy. 

Ten  years  had  passed,  since  Clara  Avenel,  in  the  pride 
of  her  youth,  and  in  her  peerless  beauty,  had  given 
her  hand  to  Colonel  Bell,  and  gone  forth  under  his 
protection  from  the  quiet  of  her  country  home,  to  achieve 
those  triumphs  among  the  gay  and  fashionable,  for  which 
she  panted,  and  enjoy  those  pleasures  which  she  thought 
her  wealth  and  personal  fascinations  could  not  fail  to 
secure. 

Colonel  Bell  was  a  Mase  man  of  the  world,  selfish,  and 
in  some  measure  hardened,  as  all  such  are ;  but  he  was 
proud  of  his  wife,  and  would  have  loved  her  if  she  had 
allowed  him.  It  needed  but  few  months  of  matrimony 
to  convince  him  of  the  mercenary  motives  with  Avhich  she 
had-;  married,  and  that,  for  any  warmth  of  heart,  or  any 
earnestnei^s'  of  principle,  he  might  as  well  have  purchased 
a  marble  statue,  and  endowed  it  with  his  name.  No 
children  came  to  unite  them  by  ties  of  common  hopes  and 
interests ;  and  so,  as  time  went  by,  they  grew  more  and 
more  estranged,  until  now  they  dwelt  together  in  this 
luxurious  home,  with  hearts  as  cold,  and  as  immovably 
separated,  as  are  the  frozen  regions  of  the  extreme  north 
and  south. 

Ten  years!  Clara  Bell  had  been  looking  back  over 
them,  and  found  little  to  cheer  in  the  retrospect.     Her 


166  CASTE  . 

father  had  died ;  her  early  friends  were  alienated.  The 
golden  apples  she  had  thought  worth  the  price  of  a  life's 
happiness  had  proved  themselves,  too  late,  fruit  that 
mocked  the  hunger  of  her  soul.  The  grapes  of  Eshcol, 
for  which  she  had  longed,  had  turned  to  bitter  ashes  and 
dust  upon  her  lips. 

A  light  burned  in  an  alabaster  shade,  before  her  toilet 
glass,  which  was  upheld  by  two  Cupids,  exquisitely 
carved,  and,  pausing  here,  she  gazed  long  and  fixedly  at 
the  image  before  her ;  and,  as  she  gazed,  the  fretful  ex- 
pression faded  from  her  face,  and,  raising  her  hand,  she 
smoothed  away  the  slight  -wiinkle  which  her  daily  frowns 
of  discontent  had  caused.  Then  with  an  irrepressible 
smile  of  triumph,  she  said,  softly,  "  I  must  not  think  so 
much.  They  say  too  much  thought  makes  one  look  old, 
and  at  thirty  I  cannot  aflford  to  begin  to  fade.  I  Avill 
commence  reading,  and  see  if  there  is  really  any  thing  in 
books  to  charm  away  this  ennui  which  is  devouring  me. 
Literary  ladies  are  the  fashion  nowadays,  and  I  may  as 
well  get  what  good  I  can  out  of  this  imprisonment,  which 
I  don't  mean  shall  last  much  longer." 

So  saying  she  turned  away,  and  passing  to  the  end  of 
the  hall,  went  through  a  long  wing  which  extended  from 
that  side  of  the  mansion,  and  descended  into  the  library. 
This  was  a  large,  lofty  room,  built  in  the  Gothic  style, 
and  almost  entirely  detached  from  the  rest  of  the  house. 
A  young  negro  girl  was  placing  lighted  candles  on  the 


A  X    A  C  C  I  D  E  N  T  .  167 

table  as  slie  entered,  and  in  answer  to  her  mistress's  in- 
quiry, replied,  — 

"  Massa  say  he  want  'em  here  ebery  night,  whether  he 
home  or  not." 

"  Very  well,"  replied  Mrs.  Bell ;  and  then,  as  her  eye 
ran  over  the  books  in  one  of  the  alcoves,  she  bade  the 
girl  bring  her  a  certain  set,  which  occupied  one  of  the 
high  shelves.  She  brought  the  book  ladder,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  obey  ;  but  there  were  several  volumes  indicated, 
and  in  taking  them  down,  she  accidentally  let  some  of 
them  drop.  In  her  anxiety  to  pick  them  up  before  her 
mistress  should  see  them,  she  sprang  too  hastily  from  the 
ladder,  and,  in  so  doing,  knocked  from  the  table  a  small 
writing  desk  of  mahogany,  elaborately  carved,  Avhich 
struck  a  heavy  oaken  chair  as  it  fell,  and  was  so  broken 
that  its  contents  were  scattered  over  the  floor. 

Mrs.  Bell,  who  had  been  looking  over  some  papers  at  a 
distant  table,  turned  when  she  heard  the  noise,  and  saw 
the  accident  at  a  glance.  She  was  in  a  mood  to  be  exas- 
perated at  a  trifle,  or  she  would  have  cared  little  for  the 
destruction  of  any  article  which  belonged  solely  to  her 
husband ;  but  now  she  was  glad  of  an  excuse  for  an  out- 
burst of  passion  —  glad  of  an  object  on  which  to  wreak 
the  vague  anger  and  impatience  that  filled  her  soill,^  ^Fire 
seemed  to  flash  from  her  blue  eyes,  and  crossing  th\i  room 
with  a  quick  step,  she  imfastened  from  her  side  a' small 
cowhide  which  she  always  wore  hidden  b'  n^ath  her  \?kirt, 


168  CASTE. 

and  seized  with  no  gentle  hand  the  terrified  girl,  who 
stood  looking  with  helpless  distress  at  the  mischief  she 
had  caused. 

"  You  careless  hussy,"  exclaimed  the  mistress  ;  and  then 
came  a  shower  of  heavy  blows,  every  one  of  which  left 
livid  marks  on  the  face  and  the  bare  neck  and  arms  of  her 
servant ;  but  she  knew  too  A\'ell  the  penalty  of  the  slight- 
est resistance,  and  without  the  least  effort  to  escape  them, 
remained  crouching  at  her  feet,  writHng  with  pain,  but 
striving  to  stifle  her  sobs  and  groans  ;  for  this  delicate  lady 
never  allowed  her  servants  to  trouble  her  with  outcries. 

At  last  her  arm  grew  weary,  and,  as  she  paused  to  take 
breath,  she  commanded  the  girl  to  pick  up  the  things, 
and  restore  them  to  their  places.  Wiping  away  her  tears, 
she  tried  to  obey ;  but  it  was  in  such  nervous  haste,  that 
after  she  had  left  the  room  ISIrs.  Bell  saw  a  small  morocco 
ease,  which  had  fallen  from  the  desk,  lying  on  the  floor 
beneath  the  table.  She  took  it  iip  and  opened  it,  care- 
lessly, at  first,  for  she  thought  she  had  long  ago  exam- 
ined every  thing  in  that  antique  desk,  which  had  stood 
for  years  in  the  same  spot,  containing  mementoes  of  the 
colonel's  early  days,  letters  from  his  brothers  and  sisters, 
all  of  whom  were  now  dead,  and  miniatures  of  his  par- 
ents, painted  on  ivory  in  stiff  and  prim  old  fashions. 

But  this !  —  none  of  the  Bell  family  had  ever  borne 
the  face  which  looked  up  at  her  then  ;  and  at  the  first 
glance  she   started   violently,  a   deep   color  flushed  her 


A     SECRET     DISCOVERED.  169 

cheeks,  and  a  wild,  vague  expression  gleamed  in  her  eyes. 
Going  nearer  the  light  she  examined  the  case,  which  was 
old  and  worn,  as  if  by  much  use,  and  then,  more  closely 
than  before,  the  miniature  it  contained. 

"It  is  herself,"  she  murmured.  For  Mrs.  Bell  had 
been  so  much  alone  for  the  last  two  years,  that  she  had 
contracted  a  habit  of  talking  to  herself  when  excited.  "  It 
is  her  face,  and  yet  it  is  different.  The  same  black  hair, 
the  same  coral-red  lips,  the  same  style  of  beauty,  and  yet 
there  is  a  difference  —  what  is  it  ?  " 

She  remained  a  long  time  absorbed  in  thought,  with 
her  eyes  fixed  on  the  picture,  and  then  her  brow  lighted 
with  a  sudden  memory.  "I  have  it,"  she  exclaimed, 
smiling  triumphantly,  and  then,  as  if  overwhelmed  with 
her  own  thought,  she  grew  a  little  pale,  and  catching  her 
breath  said,  in  a  low  tone,  "  Good  heavens,  what  a  time 
there  will  be  !  and  to  think  I  should  have  found  it  out !  " 
Then  she  returned  to  the  desk ;  for  she  was  curious  to 
know  where  this  secret  had  been  kept ;  and  in  turning  it 
round  she  discovered  that  it  had  a  false  bottom,  in  which 
a  shallow  di-awer  had  opened,  concealed  by  the  carving 
of  the  wood.  The  spring  of  this  drawer  must  have  been 
broken  by  the  shock  of  falling,  for  now  it  was  pushed  partly 
open,  and  could  not  be  shut ;  but  a  paper  remained 
within  it,  in  which  was  enclosed  a  long  ringlet  of  glossy 
black  hair,  and  two  shorter  curls  of  flossy  silk,  that  had 
evidently  been  cut  from  a  child's  head.  Mrs.  Bell  touched 
\5 


170  CASTE. 

them  daintily,  with  a  strange,  mocking  smile  on  her  face, 
and  laid  them  back  in  their  place  ;  but  the  miniature  she 
put  carefully  in  her  pocket,  and  taking  a  book  returned  to 
the  drawing  room. 

As  she  passed  through  the  hall  she  met  one  of  her  hus- 
band's valets,  and  as  he  bowed  respectfully  and  stepped 
aside,  that  she  might  pass,  she  stopped  and  asked  him  when 
his  master  was  expected  home.  Although  Colonel  Bell 
treated  his  wife  with  the  most  elaborate  courtesy  when- 
ever they  appeared  together  in  public,  in  the  privacy  of 
home  life  their  conduct  to  each  other  was  marked  by  a 
studied  indifference,  which  could  not  be  disguised  from 
the  servants  —  those  spies  of  domestic  secrets.  So  the 
man  stared  Avith  unaffected  surprise  at  this  question,  and 
at  the  eager  manner,  which  she  could  not  wholly  repress. 
He  replied  that  the  colonel,  who  had  been  absent  some 
days,  would  return  late  that  evening,  and  then  went  his 
way,  to  wonder  what  could  have  occasioned  such  an  un- 
wonted interest  in  his  master's  movements. 

The  next  morning  Mrs.  Bell  woke  early,  for  a  new  ex- 
citement of  feeling  had  broken  the  monotony  of  her  life, 
and  rendered  sleep  impossible.  She  touched  the  spring 
of  a  small  silver  bell,  and  before  the  sound  had  died 
away  a  maid  appeared  from  the  anteroom,  where  she 
waited. 

"  Open  the  curtains,  and  then  call  Marise.  I  will  be 
dressed  now,"  said  her  mistress. 


BREAKFAST.  171 

"  So  early  as  tMs,  Miss  Clara  ?  "  replied  the  astonislied 
servant,  pausing,  as  slie  looped  up  the  lace  draperies. 

"  Yes.  Open  the  shutters  !  —  there,  that's  far  enough. 
Now  call  Marise,  and  bring  the  coffee." 

The  girl  went  out  to  obey  the  order,  and  then  Mrs.  Bell 
sprung  up  in  bed  and  leaned  forward,  until  through  the 
window  she  could  see  the  wing  of  the  building  in  which 
the  colonel's  suit  of  rooms  was  situated.  The  shutters 
of  his  chamber  were  fast  closed,  but  the  -v^indow  of  the 
anteroom  was  open,  and  a  servant  was  leaning  out  to  chat 
with  a  pretty  mulatto  girl,  who  was  gathering  flowers  in 
the  garden  below. 

"  He  has  returned,"  she  murmured,  "  for  there  is  that 
perfumed  popinjay  he  carries  about  with  him  every  where. 
How  he  can  sleep  with  their  chattering  in  his  ears  I  don't 
see  ;  but  I  believe  he  indulges  his  servants  on  purpose  to 
make  it  more  difficult  for  me  to  govern  mine  properly." 

A  step  was  heard  approaching ;  she  sank  back  on  the 
pillows,  and  the  maid  reentered,  followed  by  another 
who  carried  a  silver  waiter  containing  a  French  roll,  and 
coffee  which  sent  up  its  fragrant  steam  from  a  precious 
cup  of  Sevres  china.  The  girl  knelt  beside  the  bed  and 
held  the  waiter,  while  her  mistress  regaled  herself  with 
its  contents. 

When  she  had  withdrawn,  Marise  entered.  She  was  a 
favorite  servant,  who  had  accompanied  her  mistress  abroad, 
and  been  apprenticed  in  Paris  to  a  hair  dresser,  until  she 


1 72  CASTE. 

was  perfect  in  her  art.  She  studied  her  mistress's  pleas- 
ure, and  had  contrived  to  make  herself  so  necessary  to 
her,  that  Clara  treated  her  ^vith  unusual  consideration ; 
and  she,  priding  herself  upon  her  position  and  education, 
refused  to  associate  A\ith  most  of  the  other  servants,  and 
was  envied  and  feared  by  them  even  more  than  their 
mistress. 

The  process  of  dressing  consumed  some  time,  for  Mrs. 
Bell,  having  nothing  else  to  do,  amused  herself  with 
maldng  elaborate  toilets,  and  was  as  carefully  dressed  for 
a  solitary  breakfast  in  her  room  as  to  entertain  a  large 
company  of  admiring  guests.  She  had  such  a  passion  for 
her  own  beauty,  she  could  not  see  it  dressed  otherAvase 
than  in  jewels  and  fine  raiment ;  and  she  studied  every 
effect  of  color,  and  drapery,  and  position,  with  a  patient 
assiduity  worthy  of  a  higher  end.  She  even  tried,  at 
times,  to  control  her  temper,  because  she  learned  that  the 
indulgence  of  strong  emotion  anticipated  the  hand  of 
Time  in  making  unsightly  wrinkles  on  the  face  ;  but  in 
this  attempt  she  was  not  always  successful. 

After  she  was  dressed,  and  breakfast  had  been  served, 
she  hesitated  whether  to  wait  until  the  dinner  hour,  when 
she  usually  first  met  her  husband  for  the  day,  or  to  ven- 
ture into  the  library,  where  he  spent  his  mornings,  while 
at  home,  in  looking  over  and  arranging  various  matters 
of  business.  But  she  was  too  impatient,  too  much  excited, 
to  defer  the  eclaircissemcnt  which  was  to  give  her  such 
a  hold  on  him. 


A     C  O  M  I  X  G     S  T  0  R  M  .  173 

For  months  he  had  compelled  her  to  remain  in  that 
country  solitude,  far  from  the  dissipation  for  which  she  had 
a  natural  craving,  and  which  habit  had  made  almost  a 
necessity  of  her  existence  ;  and  in  a  thousand  ways  he 
had  made  her  feel  that  she  was  in  the  power  of  one  who 
cared  little  for  her  anger  or  her  tears.  Now  she  Avould 
humble  him.  Now  she  would  force  him  to  comply  with 
her  wishes,  and  give  her  the  sanction  of  his  presence  in 
those  journej-ings  and  gayeties  for  which  she  had  longed 
so  wearily. 

Full  of  these  thoughts  she  wandered  through  the  gar- 
den, Avhere  the  air  was  heavy  with  the  morning  perfume 
of  a  thousand  flowers,  and  passing  thence  through  a  glass 
door  into  the  library,  she  took  a  book  and  seated  herself 
at  the  table. 

She  had  long  to  wait,  for  Colonel  Bell  had  reached 
home  late  at  night,  and  his  slumbers  were  prolonged  by 
fatigue.  When  at  length  he  sauntered  into  the  room,  he 
lifted  his  eyebrows  with  a  negligent  surprise  to  see  it  thus 
occupied ;  but  although  he  had  been  absent  a  week,  no 
other  salutation  passed  between  them  than  a  cold  "  good 
morning,"  haughtily  given  and  as  haughtily  returned. 
Then  followed  a  few  commonplace  remarks  iipon  the  sea- 
son, and  the  weather ;  the  colonel  secretly  wondering 
why  his  wife  should  seek  him,  and  she  gathering  her 
courage  for  what  she  had  to  say  ;  for  she,  who  feared 
nothing  else  in  heaven  or  earth,  feared  him.  He  had 
15* 


174 


never  been  violent,  rarely  abrupt,  but  there  -was  sometbing 
in  bis  voice  and  look  that  made  ber  tremble  ;  a  magnetism 
in  bis  eye  before  wbicb  ber  own  proud  glance  was  quelled  ; 
a  bardness  and  sternness  of  character,  and  a  quiet  obsti- 
nacy of  disposition,  against  wbicb  tbe  foam  and  fury  of 
ber  storms  of  passion  dasbed  themselves  only  to  fall  back 
Avasted  and  broken. 

Now,  as  in  walking  listlessly  around  tbe  room,  be 
glanced  over  ber  shoulder  at  tbe  book  she  was  reading, 
his  lip  curled  with  a  sarcastic  smile,  and  be  said,  in  a 
careless  tone,  — 

"  AVonders  will  never  cease  !  Mrs.  Bell  reading,  and 
not  reading  a  novel  I  Pray,  are  you  taking  to  literature, 
as  some  ladies  take  to  devotion,  on  their  retirement  from 
the  world  ? " 

"  I  have  not  retired  from  the  Avorld,"  said  bis  wife,  lay- 
ing down  tbe  book,  and  turning  towards  him  with  a  de- 
fiant air. 

"  You  have  not  ?  Ah,  well !  there  are  different  degrees 
of  retirement,     /should  call  it  rather  Miely  here." 

"  Lonely  !  yes  ;  but  I  shall  stay  here  no  longer.  I 
shall  go  to  the  springs  this  summer,  and  you  can  go  with 
me  or  not,  as  you  please  —  perhaps  we  shall  each  enjoy 
oxirselves  as  well  apart.  A  short  separation  will  make  it 
more  delightful  for  us  to  be  together  during  our  journey 
in  the  autumn." 

"  Our  journey  where  ?  " 


DEFIANCE.  175 

"  To  Europe.  You  say  you  are  going  there  in  the  fall,  and 
I  must  go  with  you.     I  cannot  stay  here  another  winter." 

There  was  a  pause,  during  which  they  looked  steadily 
at  each  other,  she  flushed  and  determined,  and  he  with  a 
languid  surprise,  as  if  he  would  not  take  the  trouble  to 
be  curious  at  her  excitement  of  manner. 

At  length  she  repeated,  "  I  say  I  will  not  stay  here 
longer  alone." 

His  voice  took  a  deeper  tone,  and  his  eye  grew  more 
commanding  ;    but  he  only  said,  briefly,  "  You  loill  not  I  " 

"  I  will  not." 

"  Madam,  you  will." 

"  Who  shall  compel  me  ?  " 

"  I  will.  We  have  talked  enough  on  this  subject  in 
other  times,  and  you  know  that  I  choos*  you  shall  stay 
here ;  it  is  the  only  place  left  for  you,  for  never  will  I 
introduce  you  into  society  as  my  wife." 

It  is  diflicult  to  describe  the  manner  in  which  he  said 
this,  there  was  in  it  so  much  quiet  power,  and  yet  it  was 
so  scoi-Snilly  easy  and  careless  ;  but  she,  trembling  with 
rage,  clinched  her  hand  and  raised  it,  as  she  cried  out,  in 
reply,  "  Who  are  you  that  say  this  ?  What  are  you,  that 
you  pretend  to  be  ashamed  of  me?  " 

"Woman  !  "  he  exclaimed,  fixing  his  eyes  on  her  Avith 
a  lightning  glance,  "  will  you  force  me  to  recall  the  past  ? 
Will  you  compel  me  to  speak  your  shame  ?  Remember 
the  last  winter  in  London !  Remember  your  giddy  dissi- 
pation, your  vanity,  your  iinprudenco  I      Remember  the 


176 


Marquis  of  Owersby,  and  your  infatuation,  tliat  came  so 
near  ending  in  exposure  and  disgrace  for  us  both.  If 
you  could  have  made  7ne  a  laughing  stock,  you  would 
have  cared  little  for  the  rest ;  but  my,  plans  were  laid 
very  quietly.  Nobody  knew  that  I  was  the  person 
who  outwitted  that  dissolute  lord,  and  disappointed  the 
false  wife  who  was  willing  to  share  his  forced  journey 
across  the  channel." 

She  shrank  back  in  her  chair,  and  turned  very  pale 
while  he  had  been  speaking,  but  she  would  not  turn  away 
her  eyes  ;  she  would  not  seem  to  yield  to  the  load  of  dis- 
honor he  was  heaping  upon  her.  A  desperate  courage 
nerved  her,  and  she  dared  to  brave  him  even  yet. 

"  Few  men  besides  you  would  have  taken  such  things  so 
quietly,"  sh^  replied,  tauntingly.  "  A  man  of  spirit  w^ould 
have  been  divorced  from  a  "svife  who  had  treated  him  thus." 

*' Do  you  think  so  ?  "  he  said,  with  a  sardonic  laugh. 
"  Do  you  not  see  that  this  is  the  very  gist  and  pith  of  my 
revenge  ?  You  are  rich,  you  are  beautiful,  you  are  un- 
scrupulous. If  you  were  freed  from  the  chaii  that  binds 
you  to  me,  you  would  soon  surround  yourself  with  pleas- 
ures, and  make  life  a  holiday.  You  would  find  friends 
ready  to  believe  you  had  been  ^vronged  and  slandered, 
and  perhaps  you  might  marry  again,  for  there  are  enough 
brainless  lords,  who,  with  the  reality  of  your  beauty,  and 
the  fiction  of  your  wealth,  might  be  induced  to  marry 
even  a  divorced  wife.  I  knew  this,  and  I  knew  that 
when  you  had  attained  this  end,  you  would  care  little  for 


THE     wife's     TUKX.  177 

the  means  by  which  you  reached  it ;  and  do  you  suppose 
I  would  be  foolish  enough  to  allow  you  the  chance  of  this 
triiunph  ?  That  would  have  been  no  punishment ;  but 
this  —  to  dress  yourself  elaborately,  and  have  no  one  to 
admire  you  ;  to  know  that  your  youth  is  fleeting,  and 
your  beauty  waning,  and  no  chance  remains  of  improving 
the  time  still  left  in  bringing  conquests  to  your  feet ;  to 
have  a  house  full  of  fine  furniture,  and  no  opportunity  to 
display  it ;  a  wardrobe  of  fine  dresses,  which  none  see  or 
envy  you  the  possession  of —  this  is  a  daily,  hourly  tor- 
ture, which,  paltry  as  it  would  seem  to  a  woman  of  any 
mind  or  heart,  is,  to  one  of  your  character,  almost  too 
great  for  endurance.  This  solitude  wearies  you  intolera- 
bly ;  this  unsatisfied  vanity  grows  ravenous,  and  feeds  upon 
your  most  precious  possession  —  your  face.  I  see  it,  and 
I  rejoice  over  it.  This  house  is  a  prison,  but  you  shall 
remain  here  while  the  laws  of  the  land  gi-se  a  husband 
power  to  fix  his  wife's  dwelling-place." 

His  face  had  growTi  almost  fiendish  in  its  expression  of 
relentless  hate  and  revenge,  and  he  was  going  on  to  say 
more,  when  she,  stung  to  madness,  cried  out,  "  Look 
here  !  "  and  held  the  miniature  suddenly  before  him,  at 
arm's  length  above  her  head.  He  knew  it  at  a  glance, 
and  if  that  fair  young  face  had  been  Medusa,  armed  with 
all  her  terrors,  he  could  not  have  been  petrified  with  a 
more  stony  amazement ;  he  could  not  have  gro%\Ti  more 
ghastly  pale  and  faint,  or  gasped  for  breath  more  piteously. 
Then  came  a  swiit  reaction.     "  Have  you  been  playing 


178  CASTE. 

the  spy?  Are  you  thief,  as  well  as  wanton?  "  he  hissed 
out  from  his  clinched  teeth,  Avith  a  fierce  impetuosity, 
such  as,  in  all  their  miserable  life  together,  he  had  never 
shown  before ;  and  she  sprang  from  her  chair  with  a  faint 
shriek,  for  at  that  moment  he  looked  as  if  he  would  have 
murdered  her. 

He  seized  her  with  a  grasp  of  steel,  and  placing  her  in 
her  chair  again,  forced  her  to  resign  the  miniature,  though 
she  struggled  to  retain  it.  Then,  thrusting  it  in  his  bo- 
som, he  stood  with  one  hand  on  her  chair,  and  for  a  little 
while  not  a  word  was  spoken  between  them.  Both  were 
endeavoring  to  regain  some  degree  of  self-control.  Pres- 
ently he  said,  in  his  usual  calm  voice,  "  Where  did  you 
get  this  picture  ?  " 

"  I  picked  it  up  as  it  laid  on  the  floor  in  this  very  room. 
One  of  the  servants  knocked  your  desk  down  by  a  care- 
less movement,  and  as  it  was  broken,  this  fell  out.  Now, 
sir,  I  hope  you  vnll  reflect  with  satisfaction  upon  the  very 
gentlemanly  epithets  you  have  applied  to  me." 

He  bit  his  lip,  and  turned  away  to  see  if  she  spoke  the 
truth ;  and  when  he  saw  the  condition  of  the  desk,  a  flush 
passed  over  his  face,  and,  without  looking  up,  he  asked,  — 
"  Do  you  know  whom  the  picture  represents  ?  " 
"  It  is  a  miniature  of  your  mistress,  Helen  Dupre." 
There  was  a  malicious  triumph  in  her  tone,  as  she  re- 
plied, and  her  eyes  gleamed  with  a  keen  light,  for  she 
knew  those  venomous  words  had  poisoned  alike  his  dear- 
est memories  and  his  fondest  hopes. 


SECRETS     XEVER     SAFE.  179 

He  regarded  her  with  that  strange  magnetic  gaze  be- 
fore which,  until  now,  her  own  had  ever  fallen,  and  said, 
in  a  slow,  lingering  manner,  as  if  trpng  meanwhile  to 
read  in  her  face  the  full  extent  of  her  knowledge,  — 

"  You  say  what  you  know  is  not  true.  That  young 
girl  is  pure  as  the  light  of  summer.  Her  name  must  not 
be  spoken  by  such  lips  as  yours.  This  is  not  her  min- 
iature." 

"  It  looks  like  her,"  said  Mrs.  Bell,  willing  to  prolong 
her  pleasure  in  his  perplexity. 

"  Not  exactly  ;  though  there  is  a  similarity  that  I  my- 
self noticed,  and  which  is  quite  remarkable  in  an  entire 
stranger.  Still  there  is  a  difference.  Miss  Dupre  has 
larger  eyes,  and  her  hair  does  not  curl." 

"  But  her  mother's  did  !  "  interrupted  his  wife,  Avith  a 
loud,  exulting  laugh.  "  O,  immaculate  piece  of  perfec- 
tion that  you  are,  I  have  found  you  out ;  you  are  in  my 
power  now !  " 

"  What  do  you  know  ?  "  asked  Colonel  Bell,  quietly; 
and  his  voice  only  grew  more  deep  and  stern. 

"  What  do  I  know  r  Have  I  not  heard  of  your  early 
insanity  for  that  mulatto  girl  ?  Do  I  not  find  in  her  min- 
iature an  exact  resemblance  to  my  neighbor's  governess  ? 
Do  I  not  find  in  your  secret  drawer  hair  that  might  have 
been  cut  yesterday  from  her  head,  and  three  names  — 
Gorilla !  Helen  !  Charles !  Yes,  sir,  you  may  well  turn 
pale.  Did  I  not  hear  you  say  that  you  recognized  her 
at  a  glance  ?     Do  I  not  see  your  interest  in  her  ?     Did  I 


180  CASTE. 

not  hear  her  speak  of  her  brother  r  And  cannot  I  put  all 
these  together,  and  conjecture  what  I  do  not  know?  " 

"  What  do  you  conjecture?  "  he  asked,  with  the  same 
unmoved  manner,  in  the  same  low,  terribly  calm  tones. 

"  I  conjecture  that  you  have  contrived  in  some  way  to 
make  every  body  believe  these  children  died  —  for  so  I 
have  always  heard ;  that  you  sent  them  to  the  north, 
and  have  managed  to  have  them  grow  up  and  be  educated 
with  the  belief  that  they  were  white.  I  know  that  you 
now  will  do  almost  any  thing  to  keep  the  secret,  and  allow 
your  neighbor  to  marry  that  base-born  girl.  I  know  that 
you,  who  are  so  hard-hearted,  are  fool  enough  to  love  this 
child  of  a  nigger,  for  her  mother's  sake,  and  intend  to 
impose  her  on  the  community  as  if  she  had  a  right  to  be 
received  as  an  equal.  You  prate  about  honor !  This  is 
yours  ! " 

"  And  what  do  you  intend  to  do  ?  " 

"  We  may  as  well  understand  each  other.  If  you  will 
grant  my  wishes,  and  treat  me  as  1  ought  to  be  treated, 
I  will  not  interfere  with  your  plans  ;  I  will  even  cul- 
tivate an  acquaintance  A^ith  Mrs.  Hubert  Warner.  Per- 
haps some  consideration  is  due  from  me  towards  the 
child  of  my  beloved  husband,"  she  added,  with  a  jeering 
laugh. 

"  And  if  I  do  not  ?  "  he  asked,  gloomily. 

"  Then  I  will  thwart  you,  and  this  girl  shall  tukc  her 
proper  place  as  a  servant,"  she  answered,  with  haughty 
determination. 


A     TH  KE  AT  .  181 

His  gaze  fell  from  her  face  to  the  floor  at  his  feet,  and 
he  stood  absorbed  in  thought,  the  purport  of  which  his 
wife  endeavored  vainly  to  read  in  the  rigid  lines  of  his 
stern  countenance.  Then  he  said,  slowly,  "  I  shall  ask 
no  promises  from  you,  for  I  learned,  long  since,  that  your 
promises  are  but  empty  breath.  I  shall  think  of  what 
you  have  said,  and  if  I  consider  it  best  to  yield  to  you  in 
some  degree,  I  shall  do  so.  But  this  I  do  say,  and  you 
will  do  well  to  heed  me.  Clara  Bell,"  and  here  he  spoke 
louder  and  quicker,  going  close  to  her,  and  looking 
straight  into  her  eyes,  "  if  tbat  young  girl  suffers  in  act 
or  thought  through  any  word  of  yours,  I  will  shut  you  up 
in  a  prison,  from  whence  it  will  not  be  as  easy  to  escape 
as  from  this." 

His  wife  shrank  away  from  him,  terrified  at  his  savage 
words  and  manner  ;  but  still  her  beautiful  lip  curled  with 
an  incredulous  smile,  and  she  said,  faintly,  — 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  There  are  no  Bastiles  in  this 
country,  in  which  to  shut  up  refractory  wives." 

"  There  are  other  places,  though.  There  are  pleasant 
little  retreats  where  women  are  sometimes  sent,  when 
they  haven't  sense  enough  to  know  how  to  behave.  Some 
people  call  them  madhouses.'" 

"You  cannot!  You  dare  not!"  she  cried,  starting 
away  from  him  in  horror. 

"  Tempt  me,  and  see  if  I  dare  not !     Try  me,  and  see 
if  I  cannot !  "     And  with  these  words  he  left  the  room. 
IG 


CHAPTER    TENTH 


"  In  glowing  health,  with  boundless  wealth, 
Yet  sickening  of  a  vague  disease. 
You  know  60  ill  to  deal  with  time, 
You  needs  must  play  such  pranks  as  these." 


Whex  Clara  Bell  sought  her  husband  in  the  library, 
her  thoughts  had  been  fixed  solely  upon  advancing  her 
own  wishes  by  means  of  the  new  ascendency  she  im- 
agined herself  to  have  acquired  over  one  Avhom  she  feared 
almost  as  much  as  she  hated.  She  had  determined  to 
restrain  her  temper,  to  be  quiet  and  persuasive,  and  obtain 
from  him  a  promise  that,  if  she  would  not  interfere  with 
his  plans,  he  would  take  her  back  to  the  gay  European 
life  she  had  enjoyed  so  much. 

But  as  usual,  he  had  angered  and  outwitted  her,  reviled 
and  taunted  her,  mocked  at  her  power  and  dared  her  to 
use  it ;  and  now  her  whole  frame  throbbed  and  trembled 
with  an  uncontrollable  rage,  and  the  most  intense  desire 
to  revenge  herself.  Yet  how  ?  Wary  even  in  the  midst 
of  her  wild  passion,  she  racked  her  brain  for  means  by 
which  to  th^^•art  his  cherished  scheme,  without  compromis- 
ing the  faint  hopes  of  his  compliance  which  she  still  held, 
or  provoking  );he  anger  which  she  dreaded.     It  would  have 

(1S2) 


WITHOUT     AND     WITHIN.  183 

been  wiser  in  him  to  have  promised  the  indulgence  she 
craved;  but  having  already  denied  it,  his  pride  refused 
submission  to  her  attempted  coercion.  When  a  man's 
foes  "are  they  of  his  own  household,"  it  is  hard  for  him 
to  conduct  the  battle  with  coolness  and  skill. 

But  the  mockery,  the  mask  of  life,  must  be  kept  up ; 
for,  severed  in  every  other  feeling,  they  were  united  in  the 
pride  that  shrank  from  exposing  their  domestic  unhappi- 
ness  to  the  gossiping  curiosity  of  society  ;  and  guests  had 
been  invited  to  dine  with  them.  Clara  had  forgotten  it 
until  reminded  by  her  maid  that  it  was  time  to  dress  for 
dinner ;  and  then,  though  the  servants  had  shrunk  all  the 
morning  from  her  flashing  eyes  and  her  loud  voice,  she 
dressed  her  face  with  smiles,  and  toned  her  words  to  their 
softest  cadence  ;  and  robed  with  royal  magnificence,  she 
descended  to  play  the  hostess  to  some  dozen  gentlemen, 
who  went  away  envying  Colonel  Bell,  and,  in  the  fulness 
of  after-dinner  satisfaction,  praising  equally  his  cook  and 
his  wife. 

The  colonel  had  accompanied  his  guests  to  their  car- 
riages, and  after  they  drove  away  he  returned  to  the 
drawing  room,  hoping  to  find  Clara ;  for  prudence  whis- 
pered it  would  be  well  for  him  to  pretend  to  more  friend- 
liness, for  a  little  while  at  least,  in  order  to  be  secure  from 
her  machinations  until  he  had  settled  matters  with  Bernard. 

She  was  standing  before  one  of  the  mirrors,  —  but  the 
hard  and  bitter  expression  of  her  face  told  that,  for  once, 
she  stood  thus  without   thinking  of  her  own   beauty,  — 


18-1  CASTE. 

wlien  she  saw  behind  her  the  reflection  of  her  husband 
advancing,  with  a  scornful  smile  on  his  lips  at  the  position 
in  which  he  found  her.  She  turned  quickly,  and  drew 
herself  up  Avith  a  defiant  air ;  but  he  came  nearer,  and 
carelessly  holding  out  to  her  a  flower  which  he  had 
plucked  as  he  came  along,  made  some  remark  upon  its 
delightful  perfume. 

Without  deigning  any  reply  she  struck  at  it  with  a 
swift  motion  of  her  delicate  little  hand,  and  the  broken 
stem  fell  to  the  floor. 

"  Is  it  thus  you  treat  it  ?  "  said  Colonel  Bell,  in  a  low 
voice.     "  I  meant  it  for  a  peace  oflering." 

She  looked  down  upon  it,  and  her  lip  curled  proudly 
as  she  answered,  "  Yes,  truly,  it  is  a  fitting  peace  ofler- 
ing !     Do  you  know  the  language  of  that  flower  ?  " 

"  No.  I  am  not  versed  in  that  nonsense,"  said  the 
colonel,  in  surprise  at  the  question. 

"  It  means  '  concealed  hatred  '  —  truly,  a  fitting  peace 
offering  to  pass  from  you  to  me  !  " 

As  she  spoke  she  stooped  to  pick  up  the  flower,  and 
then,  crushing  it  mth  a  strong  grasp,  she  threw  it  at  him, 
and  passed  out  of  the  room.  He  caught  it  as  it  fell,  and 
holding  the  crumpled  petals  in  his  open  hand,  regarded 
them  silently  with  a  face  that  grew  every  moment  sterner 
and  paler,  and  then  laid  them  carefully  ■\^'ithin  the  leaves 
of  his  pockqt  book.  "  Concealed  hatred,  I  accept  the 
omen,''  ho  murmured  aloud ;  and,  with  a  sigh,  he  turned 
away,  and  sauntered  forth  into  the  garden.  _ 


r  S  E  I.  E  S  S     W  E  A  L  T  H  .  186 

Clara,  seated  at  the  window  of  her  boudoir,  looked  after 
him  with  a  scowling  brow.  Ah,  what  availed  to  that 
miserable  pair  all  the  wealth  and  beauty  around  them, 
or  the  delicious  air  of  that  summer  day,  golden  with 
sunshine,  and  filled  \yith.  bird  music,  and  redolent  with 
perfume  of  the  countless  flowers  in  that  garden  where 
no  "  heart's-ease  "  grew  r  The  chain  that  bound  them 
together  was  galling  them  almost  to  madness ;  and  Clara 
felt  its  weight  most  heavily  at  this  moment,  because 
she  reflected,  that  in  her  passion  she  had  rejected  the 
first  slight  overture  of  reconciliation ;  and  knowing  his 
stubborn  pride,  she  doubted  if  it  would  ever  be  re- 
newed. No  real  peace  or  harmony  could  ever  be  be- 
tween them ;  but  for  that  she  cared  little,  if  the  hollow 
semblance  could  but  release  her  firom  the  solitude  of 
the  splendid  mansion,  where  he  had  for  two  years  kept 
her  an  unwilling  prisoner. 

As  she  watched  him,  A\-ith  her  cheek  leaning  wearily  on 
her  hand,  "  chewing  the  cud  of  fancies  "  that  had  no 
sweetness  mingled  vrith.  their  bitter,  she  noticed  a  person 
approach  and  accost  him  ;  and  then  a  very  earnest  conver- 
sation occurred  as  they  paced  slowly  up  and  down  the 
sandy  walk. 

She  was    wondering  with   an    idle    curiosity  who    the 
stranger  could  be,  when  the  little  maid  that  stood  fanning 
her  said,  suddenly,  "  Dat  ar  am  de  bery  man  came  here 
t'oder  day  see  massa." 
16* 


186 


CASTE 


-'" **  O,  no,  child  ;  that  was  a  very  cominon  person  :  this 

gentleman  is  well  dressed." 

"  He  done  bought  he  clothes  since,  den,  for  I  mem- 
bers hina  bery  well,  he  so  bery  anxious  see  massa." 

Mrs.  Bell  niade  no  reply.  She  remembered  the  man 
referred  to  ;  for  happening  to  be  on  the  terrace  she  had 
heard  him  inquii-e  for  the  colonel,  but  she  did  not  notice 
him  as  closely,  or  remember  him  as  well,  as  the  child  did, 
and  v.-ould  have  given  the  subject  no  further  thought,  had 
not  Marise,  who  entered  soon  after,  remarked  carelessly, 
as,  standing  by  the  ■window,  she  noticed  the  direction  in 
which  her  mistress's  eyes  were  gazing,  — 

"  That  gentleman  and  the  colonel  are  having  a  mighty 
long  talk." 

"  I  see  they  are  ;  I  wonder  what  it  is  all  about,"  replied 
Mrs.  Bell,  languidly. 

"  I  was  on  the  piazza,"  replied  the  maid,  "  and  they 
seemed  so  much  excited  that  I  really  felt  some  curiosity, 
and  so  I  happened  to  remember  that  I  left  my  handker- 
chief in  the  arbor,  down  at  the  bottom  of  the  walk,  and 
so  I  Avas  obliged  to  pass  them." 

She  paused.  Her  mistress  made  no  reply  and  mani- 
fested no  interest,  but  she  knew  she  was  held  as  a  sort  of 
spy  on  her  master's  actions,  and  therefore  went  on. 

"  You  know,  Miss  Clara,  I  never  listens.     I  scorn  it. 

But  then  sometimes  a  body  can't  help  hearing  ;  and  as  I 

♦-•'''sod  the  first  time,  they  was  talking  about  money,  and 

'         came  back  thoy  was  talking  about  some  woman, 
away,  and  pi. 


CUKIOSIXT     AROUSED.  187 

I  can't  be  positive  about  it ;  but  I  suspect  that  I  heard  the 
name,  and  if  I  did  it  was  Millar,  or  Rillar,  or  some  such." 

"Ilillar  !  was  it  Gorilla?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Bell,  start- 
ing from  her  languid  attitude,  her  listlessness  all  gone,  and 
her  manner  so  eager  and  excited,  that  Marise  opened  her 
eyes  in  astonishment  at  this  change  from  the  affected  in- 
difference with  which  her  communications  were  generally 
received. 

"  Perhaps  it  was,"  she  answered ;  "  they  noticed  me, 
and  so  I  had  to  hurry  by." 

Mrs.  Bell  bit  her  lip  till  the  blood  left  it,  and  clasped 
her  hands  in  sudden  impatience,  while  she  cast  a  more 
searching  glance  than  before  at  the  two,  who,  still  in  ear- 
nest conversation,  walked  up  and  down  between  the  flat, 
broad- spreading  garden  beds,  that  afforded  no  chance  of 
eavesdroppings.  O,  if  she  could  hear  what  they  were 
saying  !  If  some  fairy  gift  would  only  make  her  invisible 
till  she  had  learned  that  secret !  At  length  Colonel  Bell 
and  his  companion  went  into  the  library  together,  and 
then  Clara  rose  suddenly  and  left  the  room.  She  had  not 
spoken  since  the  last  exclamation  of  surprise,  and  now 
the  maid  and  the  child  looked  at  each  other  with  wonder- 
ing eyes,  and  the  former,  stepping  to  the  door,  opened  it 
gently  and  peeped  out.  "  I  thought  so,"  she  said,  and' 
turned  back  with  a  smile.  ^  I 

"  'Pears  like  somepin  done  come  over  miss,"  said  the 
cluld ;  "  dis  mornin  de  want  no  sich  ting   as  pleasing 


188 


her,  and  now  she  don't  mind  ef  I  hain't  fanned  her  more'n 
half  de  time." 

"  How  you  do  murder  words  ! "  said  Marise,  giving 
herself  a  grand  air,  a  la  Madame  Bell.  "  Why  don't  you 
learn  to  speak  correct,  child  ?     Your  mistress  is  absorbed." 

"I  dono  whether  she's  'sorbed  or  not,  but  she  mighty 
curus  dese  two  days.  'Pears  like  she  crazy,"  replied  the 
child,  subdued  by  her  companion's  manner,  and  yet  cling- 
ing to  her  freedom  of  thought. 

It  has  been  said  that  the  library  was  nearly  detached 
from  the  house,  touching  it  only  at  the  extremity  of  one 
of  the  wings,  where  a  door  opened  at  the  foot  of  stairs  that 
led  from  Colonel  Bell's  apartments.  Into  this  part  of 
the  building  Clara  rarely  went  when  he  was  at  home  ;  but 
now  she  trod  with  light,  swift  steps  along  the  narrow 
entry,  and  down  the  stairs,  beneath  which  a  small  closet 
had  been  constructed,  where  fishing  and  hunting  imple- 
ments were  kept. 

Into  this  nook  she  crowded  herself,  and  shutting  the 
door  as  nearly  as  she  could,  was  secure  from  observation ; 
for  it  was  quite  dark  in  the  passages.  Then  cautiously 
removing  some  rubbish,  that  with  apparent  carelessness 
was  piled  in  one  corner  of  the  shelf,  she  revealed  a  small 
aperture  through  which  one  might  look  into  the  library. 

Altemately  applying  her  eye  and  ear,  she  looked  and 
listened  ;  but  still  her  bxirning  curiosity  was  but  partially 
satisfied ;  for,  instead  of  being  in  his  xisiial  place  by  the 
table,  at  the  end  of  the  room,  near  her  hiding-place,  the 


MKS.     HAUGHTY     STOOPS     TO     SPT.         189 

colonel  was  standing  before  the  secretary,  in  an  opposite  j 
comer,  and  h.is  companion,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
walked   about,   looking   at    the    books,   and   occasionally 
making  some  remark  about  them. 

Once   he    came    so   near  her,  and   remained    so    long 
gazing  in  that  direction,  she  thought  he  must  have   dis- 
covered the  hole  through  which  she  was  peeping  ;  but  he 
passed  on  ^\•ithout  remark,  and  she  breathed  more  freely  ; 
again. 

At  length,  however.  Colonel  Bell  closed  his   secretary,  . 
and,  coming  towards  the  table,  beckoned  his  companion 
to  sit  near   him.     But  few  words  passed  between  them.r 
after  tliis.    The  stranger  seemed  to  be  in  high  spirits,  and 
once  or  t^^ice  attempted  a  joke  i  but  the  colonel  was  grave 
and  taciturn,  and  in  silence  counted  a  pile  of  bills,  which 
he  afterwards  gave  to  the  other,  who  counted  them  in  his  _, 
turn,  and  transferred  them  to  his  porte-monnaie.     Then 
pushing  back  his  chair,  he  said,  as  he  arose,  — 

"  Well,  now  this  matter  may  be  considered  as  settled, 
and  your  pretty  Helen  may  sleep  in  peace  —  so  long  as 
the  cash  lasts." 

"  Bernard,  I  depend  upon  your  honor  as  a  gentleman,'\^ 
replied  the  colonel,  gravely,  and  with  a  slight  uneasiness 
of  manner. 

"  Some  folks  Avould  say  it  was  rather  poor  dependence," 
said  the  stranger,  snapping  his  fingers  carelessly.  "  I've 
been  in  some  queer  places  since  you  knew  me,  colonel ; 
places  where  it  would  have  been  rather  a  tight  squeeze  to 


I»0 


carry  much,  of  a  load  of  honor.  However,  I  know  which 
side  of  the  hoe  cake  the  'lasses  is  on,  and  I'll  be  fair  with 
you.     You  say  you  are  going  to  Charleston  to-morrow." 

"  Yes,  I  shall  be  gone  a  few  days.  You  go  to  Colum- 
bia, I  believe." 

"  Yes,  I'm  going  up  there  a  while,  and  when  I  come 
back,  may  be  I'll  call  in  and  dine  with  you  some  day.  I 
want  to  see  your  wife.  They  say  she's  devilish  hand- 
some." 

"  Devilish  handsome  !  She's  all  that,"  replied  Colonel 
Bell,  Avith  an  irrepressible  emphasis  on  the  adjective, 
which  did  not  escape  the  quick  ear  of  his  companion ; 
and  as  they  stood  in  the  waning  light  from  the  high  win- 
dow, Clara  saw  him  turn  with  a  half  whistle  and  a  side 
glance,  saying, — 

"  Ah !  termagant,  is  she  ?  Wears  the  breeches  ? 
Makes  the  colonel  stand  round  ?  " 

"  No.  I  am  master  in  my  own  house,  and  always  in- 
tend to  be,"  Avas  the  stern,  emphatic  answer  which  reached 
Clara's  ear,  as  they  moved  towards  the  door. 

She  waited  to  see  no  more,  but  leaving  her  hiding- 
place,  nlshed  breathlessly  to  the  boudoir,  where  Marise 
Avas  waiting  her  return ;  having  sent  away  the  child,  that 
there  might  be  no  spy  upon  her  mistress's  motions,  save 
herself.  Yet  though  she  expected  something  unusual, 
she  was  unprepared  for  the  vehemence  Avith  Avhich  Mrs. 
Bell  seized  her  hand,  and  drcAv  her  toAvards  the  hall,  ex- 
claiming, in  a  suppressed  tone,  — 


BERNARD     IN     DEMAND.  191 

"  Run  !  fly  !  follow  that  stranger,  and  find  out  where 
he  lives." 

"  Me,  Miss  Clara !  How  can  I  ?  He  don't  live  in  these 
parts,  I  reckon,"  said  Marise,  hesitating,  and  half  trem- 
bling before  the  wild  lights  the  eyes  fixed  on  her. 

"  Overtake  him,  then,"  she  answered,  hurriedly  ;  "  go, 
quick ;  lose  no  time,  then ;  for,  though  he  walked  here, 
he  may  have  left  a  horse  somewhere  near." 

"  I  can't,  miss  ;  it's  dark  now  ;  I  can't  go  in  the  dark, 
alone." 

"You  miiSi!,"  replied  her  mistress,  stamping  her  foot, 
and  pushing  the  girl  forward.  "  If  you  overtake  him,  I 
will  give  you  that  satin  dress  you  wanted.  Here  he  goes, 
now.  Follow  him,  that's  a  good  girl,  and  I  will  pay  you 
well  for  it." 

Marise  looked  out  the  window,  and  seeing  the  stranger 
disappear  through  the  garden  gate,  she  said,  in  a  molli- 
fied tone,  "  If  I  can  come  up  with  him,  I  will.  What 
shall  I  tell  him?" 

"  Tell  him  to  come  here  to-morrow  afternoon.  Say 
that  I  must  see  him  before  he  goes  to  Columbia.  Fly, 
child,  or  you  will  lose  him  in  the  darkness  of  the  wood." 
But  before  she  had  finished  speaking,  the  prompt,  quick- 
witted servant  glided  from  the  room,  and  a  moment  after, 
Mrs.  Bell  saw  her  flitting  through  the  shadows  of  the 
hedgerow,  in  the  direction  Bernard  had  taken. 

It  was  an  hour  before  she  returned ;  for  she,  divining 
some  mystery,  had  taken  the  precaution  to  follow  until 


192  CASTE. 

she  v.-as  sure  her  ovrn.  steps  could  not  be  traced  by  any 
one  from  her  master's  side  of  the  house,  before  she  ac- 
costed her  unconscious  companion,  who  was  quite  startled 
at  her  sudden  appearance,  and  not  a  little  surprised  at 
the  message  she  brought. 

Colonel  Bell  and  his  wife  did  not  again  meet  until  the 
next  morning,  when  he  joined  her  in  the  drawing  room, 
where  she  was  trying  to  amuse  herself  with  the  piano. 
Her  faultless  hands  and  arms  showed  well  in  such  a  posi- 
tion, and  therefore  she  liked  to  keep  herself  in  practice. 
Each  was  coldly  polite  to  the  other,  and  a  few  remarks 
passed  between  them,  in  quiet  tones.  No  allusion  was 
made  to  the  occurrences  of  the  previous  day.  The  storm 
was  over  for  this  time,  and  the  colonel  was  so  unusually 
gracious  that  he'  even  told  her  of  his  intended  trip  to 
Charleston,  and  begged  to  know  if  she  had  any  com- 
mands ;  and  when  the  carriage  was  announced,  to  take 
him  to  the  railway  station,  he  bade  her  a  courteous  fare- 
well, and  hoped  she  would  enjoy  herself  till  his  return,  in 
tones  which  tried  not  to  sound  sarcastic.  She  smiled 
calmly  in  reply.  But  0,  what  a  world  of  bitterness  was 
in  her  heart !  She  coutited  the  hours,  the  minutes  of  that 
weary  day,  and  was  beginning  to  fear  the  stranger  would 
not  come  at  her  call,  when  the  servant  announced  Mr. 
Bernard,  and  he  entered.  The  business  for  which  she 
desired  to  see  him  was  one  requiring  some  diplomacy  ;  but 
Clara  possessed  the  advantage  of  being  herself  perfectly 
unscrupulous,  and   of  knowing  that  her  companion  had 


"FACIXrS     DESCENSUS."  193 

been  once  bribed ;  and  a  few  minutes'  study  of  his  face 
convinced  her  the  operation  might  be  repeated  with  en- 
tire safety. 

Bernard  was  indeed  much  changed  since  the  time  when, 
in  the  heyday  of  youthful  pleasure,  he  had  been  the  boon 
comrade  of  Colonel  Bell ;  but  it  was  the  legitimate  change 
from  a  frolicsome,  unprincipled  youth,  to  a  coarse  and  dis- 
sipated manhood.  Then  there  was  little  apparent  differ- 
ence between  them,  except  that  one  Avould  have  said 
William  Bell  was  of  a  finer  and  more  sensitive  organiza- 
tion than  his  chosen  friend ;  and  it  may  be  that  he  was 
only  saved  from  a  similar  ruin  by  the  one  deep  grief 
which,  for  a  time,  broke  off  his  intimacy  with  the  jolly 
fellows  of  his  set,  and  the  influence  exercised  in  that  dark 
hour  by  the  piety  and  forgiving  love  of  his  neglected  wife. 
After  her  death,  he  went  abroad,  and  thus  his  early  ac- 
quaintances were  in  a  measure  forgotten;  and,  though  his 
after  life  was  far  from  being  blameless,  he  had  never  re- 
sumed the  tendency  towards  low  dissipation  in  which 
Bernard  had  squandered  his  fortune,  and  lost  respectabil- 
ity and  friends.  The  latter  would  probably  have  been  a 
hard  and  rough  man,  even  had  he  tried  to  pursue  the 
paths  of  honor  and  vii'tue ;  and  the  depth  to  which  his 
original  nature  had  become  callous,  may  be  kno^^^l  from 
the  fact  that  for  some  months  past  he  had  been  the  keeper 
of  a  pack  of  bloodhounds,  with  which  he  hunted  runaway 
negroes,  enjoying  the  business  as  much  as  the  savage 
17 


194 


beasts  whose  unerring  scent  he  followed.  Human  nature 
can  descend  to  no  lower  degree  of  depravity. 

Too  brutal  to  be  in  any  wise  able  to  understand  the 
nature  of  the  love  his  early  friend  had  entertained  so  long, 
he  regarded  Colonel  Bell's  affection  for  Gorilla's  child  as 
a  wayward  freak,  similar  to  those  which,  in  old  times, 
used  to  furnish  food  for  many  a  good-natured  jest ;  and 
as  the  laugh  which  he  bestowed  on  this  was  somewhat 
more  sardonic,  he  had  very  little  faith  that  it  would  prove 
a  persistent  humor,  and  had  accepted  his  offer  of  money, 
repeating  to  himself  the  old  proverb,  "  j\Iake  hay  while 
the  sun  shines."  Added  to  this  was  his  hatred  of  Hu- 
bert Warner,  and  an  habitual  recklessness,  which  hard 
drinking  had  not  tended  to  diminish,  and  a  shallo\vness 
of  brain  which  made  it  easy  for  a  skilful  tongue  to  confuse 
his  ideas ;.  so  that  it  was  no  wonder  if  Clara  Bell  found  in 
this  man  a  tool  ready  fitted  for  her  hand. 

Still  he  hesitated  long  between  the  present  advantage 
of  the  bribe  she  offered,  and  the  hope  of  more  prolonged 
benefit  from  his  power  over  Colonel  Bell ;  and  his  curi- 
osity was  aroused  to  know  why  the  wife  was  so  full  of 
eagerness  to  fui-ther  tSat  which  the  husband  was  as  eager 
to  avoid. 

To  the  latter  inquiry  she  gave  slight  answer,  but  upon 
the  former  she  exerted  all  the  force  of  art.  She  had,  by 
a  few  questions,  drawn  from  him  the  outlines  of  Corilla's 
history  ;  and  now  she  pretended  to  coincide  vnth  the  sug- 
gestion  which  he   imwarily  hazarded,  that  Colonel  Bell 


TWICE     BKIBED.  195 

was  always  full  of  whims,  and  that  this  would  probably 
pass  away  as  others  had  done.  "  At  any  rate,"  she 
added,  "you  cannot  suppose  he  would  be  willing  to  ad- 
vance money  many  times  ;  it  is  easy  enough  to  promise, 
but  it  is  easier  to  change  one's  mind,  when  the  promise 
draws  on  the  purse  strings." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that ;  a  man  will  bleed  pretty 
freely  when  his  temper  is  up,"  replied  Bernard. 

"  A  man  so  calm  and  cool  as  the  colonel  don't  often 
let  his  temper  hurt  his  interest,"  Clara  said,  sarcastically, 

"  That  may  be  ;  but  when  he  has  once  shut  my  mouth, 
it  will  be  for  his  interest  to  keep  it  shut,"  he  answered. 

"  You  are  mistaken  there.  He  has  deceived  you,"  re- 
plied the  lady.  "  Next  fall  we  are  going  to  Europe,  to 
remain  several  years  ;  and  of  what  consequence  will  the 
opinion  of  our  neighbors  be  to  us  then  ?  What  shall  we 
care  for  their  gossip  ?  And  as  for  Mr.  Hubert  Warner, 
he  has  lived  principally  in  Cuba  for  five  years,  and  when 
he  is  married,  will  take  his  bride  there,  and  then  they 
will  be  quite  out  of  the  reach  of  any  thing  you  may  say 
or  do.  What  hold  v.ill  you  have  then  on  Colonel  Bell  ?" 
and  how  can  you  be  so  foolish  as  to  believe  that  he  ^vill 
think  it  necessary  to  repay  your  silence  ^■\•ith  money  ?  " 

"  If  that  is  true,  I  shall  be  left  out  in  the  cold,  and,  in 
six  months  from  this,  if  I  should  want  to  remind  him  of 
this  neat  little  bargain  of  ours,  he  can  afford  to  let  me 
go  to  the  dogs.  I  know  him  of  old.  A  fellow  might 
as  well  try  to  whistle  up  hill  at   a  mark,  as  to  expect  to 


196 


get  any  thing  out  of  hdm,  when  he  takes  a  notion  against 
it ;  and  I  don't  think  he  likes  my  meddling  in  his  affairs 
very  well." 

"You  may  make  sure  he  doesn't,"  replied  Clara. 
"  Did  he  say  any  thing  to  you  about  going  to  Europe  r  " 

"  Hang  it !  no,  not  a  word.  Zounds !  if  he  has  been 
humbugging  me,  he'll  find  I'll  have  a  slice  of  that  private 
pudding  of  his  yet,  I  reckon." 

"  Don't  your  own  common  sense  tell  you  that  it  is  as 
I  say?"  returned  Mrs.  Bell.  "If  by  any  means  he  can 
keep  this  matter  secret  a  few  months  longer,  there  will 
afterwards  be  no  danger  of  having  it  divulged.  It  will 
only  occasion  a  little  gossip,  at  v.-hich  the  happy  pair  can 
afford  to  laugh,  and  which  Colonel  Bell  Avill  not  even  hear 
of,  unless  you  very  kindly  take  the  trouble  to  inform  him. 
He  will  doubtless  be  much  obliged  to  you  for  the  infor- 
mation, but  I  suspect  he  won't  pay  you  a  great  deal  for  it." 

"Hang  it!"  said  Bernard,  coarsely,  "you  needn't 
laugh  at  a  fellow.  How  much  better  will  you  do  for 
me  ?  I  reckon  you'll  want  me  to  chew  your  secret  in 
t'other  side  of  my  mouth,  won't  you  ?  " 

All  the  pride  of  Clara's  soul  revolted  against  the  air  of 
vulgar  familiarity  with  which  this  was  uttered,  and  with  a 
hauteur  that  was  intended  to  abash  him,  she  answered,  — 

"  Of  course  this  business  is  private,  and  it  will  be  for 
your  interest  as  much  as  mine  that  Colonel  Bell  should 
not  know  who  instigated  yo\i  to  the  deed,  and  showed 
you  how  he  has  been  imposing  upon  you.     But  I  do  not 


THE     P  E.  I  C  E     OF     BLOOD.  197 

care  so  very  much  about  it.  If  you  choose  to  rely  upon 
him,  you  may  do  so,  and  find  yourself  disappointed. 
These  jewels  I  offer  you  are  worth  far  more  than  you  will 
ever  get  from  him." 

As  she  spoke,  she  opened  a  morocco  case,  from  the 
velvet  lining  of  which  a  set  of  diamond  ornaments  flashed 
out  brightly.  Bernard's  eyes  glistened,  as  he  held  out 
his  hand  for  them  ;  but  she  retained  them,  saying,  "  Not 
now ;  there  must  be  something  done  to  earn  them,  be- 
fore I  give  them  up." 

"  Ho'w  much  might  they  be  worth,  now  ?  How  do  I 
know  they  are  not  all  sham  r  " 

"Sham!  Do  you  think  I  would  wear  paste?"  ex- 
claimed Mrs.  Bell,  with  an  indignation  which  convinced 
him  that  her  jewels  were  what  they  seemed. 

"  They  can't  be  worth  less  than  twenty  thousand  dol- 
lars ! "  he  exclaimed ;  "  a  bird  in  hand  is  worth  two  in 
the  bush,  and  I'll  be  hung  if  I  don't  think  I'm  a  fool  if  I 
don't  trade  with  you.     Let  me  look  at  them  a  minute." 

Reluctantly  she  surrendered  them,  half  repenting  her 
offer  when  she  thought  of  their  value,  yet  half  glad  to 
be  rid  of  ornaments  which  had  been  presented  to  her  un- 
der such  circumstances  that  she  never  dared  wear  them, 
and  the  very  sight  of  them  tinged  her  cheek  with  a  blush 
of  shame. 

Bernard  held  them  to  the  light,  and  their  prismatic 
sparkle  soon  conquered  his  lingering  reluctance.  He 
17* 


198 


replaced  them  in  her  outstretched  hand,  and,  mth  the  oath 
that  always  would  come  when  he  was  very  much  in  ear- 
nest, said,  — 

"  It's  a  bargain.     Now  tell  me  what  you  want  done." 

*'  Get  a  warrant,  and  have  that  girl  Helen  arrested  as  a 
free  person  of  color  coming  into  this  state  from  the  north. 
You  can  do  it  legally ;  and  she  will  be  compelled  to  go 
to  jail.  When  you  have  done  this,  come  to  me  for  your 
reward." 

She  spoke  hurriedly,  with  suppressed  breath,  and  a 
look  of  fierce  determination.  The  hardened  wretch  be- 
side her  looked  in  her  pale  face  with  a  sort  of  savage 
admiration,  and  replied,  — 

"  Hang  it !  you  are  a  trump  !  That  just  jumps  M'ith 
my  inclinations,  and  I'll  do  it,  I  vow  I  will ;  "  and  he 
went  on  to  tell  her  the  abuse  he  had  received  from  Hu- 
bert Warner,  and  the  venomous  desire  for  revenge,  which 
he  had  stifled  when  his  interests  seemed  to  require  it,  but 
which  now  blazed  forth  with  renewed  fire.  Their  busi- 
ness was  soon  finished ;  for  this  siren,  who  had  lured 
better  men  to  'forget  honor  and  truth,  fovind  little  diffi- 
culty in  drawing  Bernard  along,  until  he  scarcely  knew 
whether  it  was  her  will  or  his  own  which  prompted 
him.  He  left  her,  promising  to  bring  from  Columbia, 
whither  he  was  going  immediately,  the  warrant  which 
would  complete  her  husband's  vexation,  and  overwhelm 
the  unfortunate  Helen  mth  distress  and  infamy. 

She    stood    a   lonsr   time    absorbed  in  thought  in  the 


VENGEANCE     IN     PROSPECT.  199 

centre  of  the  room  where  he  had  left  her,  a  keen,  cold 
glitter  in  her  eyes,  her  small  hand  clinching  the  jewel 
case,  and  every  line  of  her  face  set  in  bold  and  rigid  de- 
termination. An  approaching  footstep  aroused  her,  and, 
starting,  she  turned  away,  saying,  half  aloud,  "  If  I  fail, 
I  can  scarcely  be  in  a  worse  condition  than  now ;  and  if  I 
succeed,"  —  she  drew  in  her  breath  through  her  shut 
teeth,  and  her  nostrils  dilated,  —  "I  shall  be  amply  re- 
vensed  on  the  man  I  hate." 


CHAPTER    ELEVENTH 


" But  God  above, 

Deal  between  me  and  thee.    ***** 
They  have  tied  me  to  the  stake ;  I  cannot  fly, 
But,  bear-LUie,.  I  must  fight  the  course. 
There  is  worse  death  than  djing  —  that  is  mine, 
If  now  I  kill  thee  not." 


The  evening  after  their  return  home,  Helen  and  Hubert 
had  much  discussion  respecting  Michel,  and  the  best 
means  of  taking  care  of  him.  At  first,  they  thought  they 
could  depend  upon  John ;  but  when  he  was  cautiously 
sounded  the  nest  day,  he  utterly  refused  to  go  to  Granby 
alone  in  the  night,  or  even  by  day,  saying  that  nothing 
could  tempt  him  to  run  the  risk  of  seeing  the  sights  and 
hearing  the  sounds  which  had  frightened  some  of  his  ac- 
quaintance nearly  out  of  their  senses.  Perhaps  he  did 
not  suspect  the  errand  on  which  they  \\dshed  to  send  him, 
and  perhaps  the  slight  sympathy  which  the  family  had 
apparently  accorded  to  his  own  trials  had  so  soured  the 
milk  of  human  kindness  in  his  nature,  that  the  coagulated 
liquid  could  no  longer  flow  for  the  relief  of  his  fellow-men. 

There  was  no  resource  left  but  to  inform  Kissy ;  and 
knomng  the  superstitions  which   she  shared  in  common 

(200) 


ZOVE     CASTEXH     OUT     FEAK.  201 

with  the  other  negroes,  Hubert  had  expressed  a  doubt  if 
she  would  be  ^^•illing  to  remain  there  vnth  her  husband, 
even  if  some  way  were  de^dsed  by  which  she  could  be 
allowed  to  do  so.  He  wronged  her  womanly  heart.  Her 
lips  indeed  turned  white,  and  her  soft  eyes  dilated  with 
fear  ;  but  without  any  hesitation  she  begged  to  be  sent  to 
nurse  him,  and,  when  Helen  asked  if  she  was  not  afraid, 
she  said,  simply,  "  I  ain't  scare  nothin'  so  much  as  havin' 
Michel  dare  alone." 

But  some  management  was  required  before  she  could 
be  sent  to  him.  The  distance  was  too  great  for  her  to  go 
and  return  during  the  hours  of  darkness,  and  consequently 
her  absence  would  be  known  to  her  mistress ;  and  no  one 
could  expect  the  owners  of  such  property  to  look  with 
help  or  favor  upon  the  escape  of  a  slave.  Still  something 
must  be  done,  and  Helen,  mth  considerable  care,  broached 
the  subject  as  she  sat  in  private  conference  with  Mrs.  War- 
ner, and  having  interested  her  in  Michel's  trials,  and  in 
Kissy's  sorrows,  at  length  ventured  to  reveal  the  dilemma 
in  which  she  was  placed. 

Mrs.  Warner  owned  that  she  could  not  blame  Michel, 
who  had  been  sadly  ill  treated  by  the  brutal  master  to 
whom  Mrs.  Bell  had  hired  him,  and  she  dwelt  -with  pecu- 
liar satisfaction  upon  the  fact  that  Kissy  did  not  run  away 
with  him,  although  she  might  have  doiie  so  ;  arguing  with 
a  strange  but  not  imcommon  self-delusion,  that  it  was  af- 
fection for  her  which  had  kept  her  servant  from  wandering. 

"  Kissy  is  a  good  girl,"  she  said,  "and  I  believe  really 


202  CASTE. 

is  grateful  for  all  I  have  done  for  her ;  and  after  John's 
actions  I  hardly  expected  that  from  any  of  them.  But, 
Helen,  my  dear,  you  see  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  allow 
her  to  go  to  her  husband.  It  could  not  be  done  without 
some  of  the  servants  getting  knowledge  of  it ;  and  the 
name  of  the  thing  would  destroy  all  one's  authority  over 
them.     Mr.  Warner  would  never  consent  to  it." 

"  He  needn't  know  any  thing  about  it,"  Helen  answered. 

"  He  must,  for  he  writes  all  the  passes  ;  and  he  -will 
miss  her,  and  inquire  where  she  is  gone." 

"  Couldn't  you  get  him  to  write  a  pass  for  her  to  go 
somewhere  else,  and  then  let  her  go  there.  I  declare,  that 
is  quite  a  good  idea,"  continued  Helen,  her  face  brightening. 
"  It  will  relieve  you  of  all  perplexity,  for  even  you  need 
not  seem  to  know  any  thing  of  the  real  state  of  the  case. 
Kissy  maist  think  of  some  relations  she  wants  to  visit, 
and  come  to  you  for  permission.  You  can  consent,  and 
ask  Mr.  Warner  for  a  pass  for  her,  and  then' I  can  arrange 
the  rest." 

"  A  fine  lesson  in  deception  you  will  teach  my  ser- 
vants," Mrs.  Warner  replied,  with  a  smile  ;  but  she  finally 
agreed  to  this  plan,  and  Helen  retired  to  talk  with  Kissy. 
Fortunately  she  had  some  relatives  in  Columbia  whom  she 
had  visited  once  before  ;  and  having  been  duly  impressed 
with  the  idea  that  she  was  on  no  account  to  betray  to  her 
mistrQss  her  real  destination,  she  was  sent  to  beg  the 
requisite  permission. 

With   apparent  reluctance    Mrs.  Warner  consented  to 


SUCCESSFUL    stbataqem:.  203 

her  absence  for  a  week,  which  she  must  be  sure  not  to 
exceed,  and  gave  her  a  few  written  words,  with  which  she 
went  to  her  master's  office  for  a  pass. 

She  retimied  to  Helen  with  the  precious  document,  too 
full  of  joy  to  be  able  to  express  her  gratitude  otherwise 
than  by  tears  and  prayers  ;  and  the  next  morning,  before 
the  earliest  stars  had  sot,  she  stole  fi-om  her  room  when 
all  the  rest  were  sleeping,  laden  with  provisions  which 
Helen  had  managed  to  secrete  there  during  the  previ- 
ous day. 

When  he  found'  she  had  gone,  Hubert  laughed  at  his 
mother  and  Helen  for  thfeir  Jesuitical  proceedings,  and 
declared  he  should  always  be  on  his  guard  against  them, 
after  having  discovered  such  a  genius  for  deception.  But 
Helen  defended  herself  on  the  principle  of  choosing  the 
least  of  two  evils,  and  retorted  by  inquiring  how  he  could 
defend  and  uphold  a  system  which  required  the  exercise 
of  so  much  artifice,  before  humane  persons  could*  enable  a 
wife  to  go  to  the  aid  of  a  sick  husband.  • 

His  defence  was  rather  lame,  and  hardly  qmeted  the 
secret  reproaches  of  her  conscience  for  the  countenance 
she  too  was  giving  to  the  system,  by  niarrjing  a  slave-  ' 
holder ;  but  he  ended  the  discussion  by  bidding  her  be- 
ware how  she  uttered  seditious  language  —  he  could  have 
the  vigilance  committee  order  her  to  leave  town,  and  then 
she  would  be  compelled  to  go  to  Cuba  mth  km. 

Kissy  found  her  way  without  difficulty  to  the  lonely 
house  where  her  husband  lay,  feverish  and  groaning  with 


204 


pain  and  tliirst,  for  there  was  no  water  nearer  than  the 
river,  and  he  had  not  wet  his  lips  since  the  morning  of 
the  day  on  which  the  accident  occurred  which  disabled 
him  from  walking. 

Braving  the  danger  of  discovery  in  being  seen  by  any 
chance  traveller,  the  devoted  wife  took  the  pail  in  which 
she  had  brought  her  provisions,  and  went  to  the  river  for 
water,  Avith  which  she  happily  returned  Avithout  meeting 
any  one.  The  refreshing  draught  was  like  nectar  to  the 
parched  lips  of  the  sufferer,  and  wet  bandages  constantly 
applied  to  his  bruised  and  swollen  limb  reduced  the  inflam- 
mation so  much  that  in  a  day  or  two  the  tormenting  pain 
had  nearly  subsided,  and  he  was  able  to  hobble  about  the 
rooms  by  the  help  of  a  crutch,  which  he  contrived  to 
make  from  a  piece  of  the  fence  which  Kissy  brought  him. 

It  was  necessary  to  keep  carefully  concealed  in  the  day- 
time, for  though  the  vicinity  was  without  inhabitants, 
the  county  road  ran  through  it,  and  travellers  often  passed 
that  way.  The  miserable  clay  eaters  plodded  to  market 
with  their  scant)'  bundles  of  fagots,  behind  shadowy  carica- 
tures of  horses,  or  skeleton  mules,  so  starved  and  weak  that 
they  seemed  to  be  leaning  for  support  against  the  thills, 
rather  than  exerting  any  force  to  draw  the  slight  dray  on 
which  the  load  was  placed.  From  such  creatures  there  was 
nothing  to  fear.  They  were  too  stupid  to  think,  and  too  su- 
perstitious to  dare,  any  invasion  of  the  haunted  premises. 

But  pleasure  parties  sometimes  drove  by,  waking  the 
echoes  with  their  mirth,  and  stopping  to  gather  bouquets 


A     VISITOR.  205 

from  the  flowers  which  still  flourished  "  where  once  a 
garden  smiled;  "  and  others,  less  familiar  with  the  place, 
cast  curious  glances  at  the  closed  windows,  and  sometimes 
peeped  into  the  silent  dwellings. 

But  at  evening  and  early  morning  the  fugitive  and  his 
wife  could  venture  forth  securely ;  and  when  a  little  expe- 
rience had  abated  their  fears  of  visitors  from  the  unseen 
world,  they  grew  cheerful  and  happy,  and  again  and  again 
blessed  the  kind  young  hearts  that  had  provided  for  them 
this  asylum. 

Several  days  had  passed  thus,  when,  as  they  sat  together 
at  the  window  of  an  upper  room  late  one  evening,  they 
saw  a  carriage  approach  and  stop  at  their  gate  ;  and 
through  the  starlight  gloom  Kissy  recognized  "  Mass'  Hu- 
bert," as  he  descended  from  it  and  entered  the  house. 
She  lighted  a  candle  —  for  they  had  not  dared  to  keep  one 
burning  —  and  went  down  to  show  him  the  way  up  stairs. 

He  was  standing  at  the  hall  door  which  he  had  pushed 
half  open,  and  was  about  to  call  her,  when  he  saw  the 
gleam  of  the  candle  dimly  lighting  her  dusky  face,  as  she 
shaded  it  mth  her  hand  from  the  draft  of  air,  and  he  smiled 
to  think  that  she  looked  as  weird  and  gnome-like  as  any 
of  the  inhabitants  with  Avhich  fancy  had  invested  the  place. 

"  Hillo,  Kissy  !  how  d'ye  ?  The  ghosts  haven't  carried 
you  off  yet  I  see,"  he  said,  as  he  came  near. 

"  0,  Mass'  Hubert,  bless  you,  dey  ain't  no  sich  —  least 
ways,  dey  ain't  none  here,"  she  answered,  mth  a  boldness 
18 


206 


that  surprised  him.  "  How  be  Miss  Helen  and  de  rest  ? " 
she  continued ;  "  I  hopes  you  brings  good  news,  massa. 
Michel  says,  'pears  like  he  ought  to  be  gettin'  'long,  'fore 
long." 

"  He  is  better  then,  is  he  ?  " 

"  0  laus  !  yes.  Mass'  Hubert — heap  better  —  most  well, 
on'y  he  can't  walk  'thout  a  crutch.  Come  up  and  see  him 
—  take  care  de  broken  step,  Massa." 

She  led  the  way  up  stairs,  and  Hubert  followed,  to 
receive  from  the  grateful  negro  a  welcome  so  garrulous 
and  warm  that  he  was  fain  to  check  it,  by  entering  upon 
some  explanation  of  the  arrangements  he  had  made  for 
Michel's  further  escape. 

The  light  of  the  candle,  shining  out  the  window,  caught 
the  eye  of  a  traveller,  who  at  that  unwonted  hour  was 
coming  alone  and  on  horseback  from  the  city  of  Columbia, 
not  far  distant.  It  was  Bernard,  who,  after  several  days 
of  wild  dissipation,  had  now  set  out  on  his  return  home  ; 
bringing  with  him  the  papers  which  Mvs.  Bell  had  com- 
missioned him  to  obtain.  He  checked  the  rapid  pace  with 
which  his  horse  was  bearing  him  along  the  silent  street 
that  gave  back  no  sound  to  the  footfall,  and  looked  again. 
Yes,  he  certainly  saw  it ;  a  dim  but  steady  light,  shining 
out  into  the  darkness  which  skrouded  the  fields  and 
houses,  and  for  a  minute  his  heart  tlu-obbed  quickly,  and 
with  a  sudden  impulse  of  fear  he  shut  his  eyes  and  urged 
his  horse  forward  in  another  direction.  But  second 
thought  arrested  his  headlong  career ;    and,  pausing,  he 


THE     EVILS     OF     CANDLES.  207 

looked  back,  and  at  length  turned  his  horse  and  guided 
him.  slowly  towards  the  light. 

"I've  heard  all  sorts  o'stories  about  this  place,"  he 
muttered  to  himself,  "  and  sometimes  I've  thought  I  saw 
lights  'round  the  houses,  but  it  was  most  always  the  moon 
shining  on  some  pane  o'glass,  or  something  o'that  kind,  — 
but  there  ain't  any  moon  to-night,  and  there's  certainly 
the  steadiest  light  I  ever  saw,  and  I  should  like  to  know 
if  there  really  is  such  goings  on  here  as  the  niggers  tell 
for.  Hang  it ! "  he  exclaimed,  in  a  whisper,  as  conung 
nearer  he  saw  the  horse  and  low  buggy  standing  at  the 
road  side,  not  far  from  the  house.  "  Hang  it !  if  I  ever 
knew  before  that  ghosts  came  up  from  the  other  world 
with  a  real  horse  and  carriage.  I  always  thought  they 
were  like  cherubs,  all  head  and  shoulders,  with  white 
sheets,  perhaps,  but  no  particular  conveniences  for  sitting 
down ;  much  less  for  driving  horses.  These  must  be 
newfashioned  kind  o'fellers,  and  hang  me  if  I  don't  take 
a  peep  at  'em." 

So  saying  he  dismounted,  and  leading  his  horse  into  the 
field  where  the  shadow  of  an  outbuilding  seciu-ed  him 
from  observation,  he  crept  cautiously  along  till  he  reached 
the  back  door,  which  was  du-ectly  under  the  window  from 
which  the  light  still  gleamed,  and  which,  the  hinge  being 
broken,  stood  always  partly  open. 

Listening  here,  he  heard  the  faint  sound  of  voices,  and  be- 
ginning to  believe  that  they  proceeded  fr-om  mortal  and  not 
spiritual  beings,  he  silently  ascended,  till  he  could  see  the 


■  .08  CASTE. 

"•ai     *  the  half-open  chamber  door,  and  distinguish 

Uree  shadows,  which  were   certainly  cast  by 

I  substantial  as  flesh  and  blood.     Chuckling 

^-  at  his  discovery,  he  slipped  oS"  his   shoes,  and 

crept  on  tiptoe  along  the   entry  and  behind  the  door, 

Avhere  he  could  hear  all  that  was  said,  and  through  the 

crack  get  a  glimpse  of  the  persons  present. 

Kissy  was  just  gathering  her  things  together,  in  prepa- 
ration for  departure,  and  Hubert  was  giving  some  last 
directions. 

"  'Pears  like  I'll  be  powerful  lonesome  here  to-night 
arter  you  go,"  said  Michel.  "  Couldn't  Kissy  stay  till 
mornin'  r " 

"I  could  walk  home,  you  know,"  Kissy  added,  looking 
up  at  him,  as  she  paused,  mth  her  hand  on  her  husband's 
shoulder. 

"  No,  you  had  better  come  with  me  now.  IMichel 
must  leave  here  early  in  order  to  get  to  the  depot  in  sea- 
son. You  understand,  Michel,"  Hubert  repeated,  "just 
how  you  are  situated  ;  for,  if  questioned,  I  don't  want 
you  to  say  any  thing  that  I  can't  veiify.  I  went  to  see 
Colonel  Bell  about  you,  but  he  was  not  at  home  ;  and  I 
have  Avritten  to  your  late  OAvner,  offering  to  buy  you  run- 
ning, since  that  scoundrel  who  was  after  you  suspected 
me  of  concealing  you.  I  have  received  no  answer,  but 
as  he  \\ill  doubtless  accept  my  offer,  I  have  no  hesitation 
in  saying  that  you  belong  to  me,  and  in  taking  you  ^vith 
me  to  Cuba.     You  know  what  time  the  train  comes  along 


GRATITUDE  209 

to-morrow  morning,  and  you  had  better  plan  your  walk 
60  as  not  to  wait  there  long.  You  have  been  advertised ; 
ao  the  less  attention  you  attract,  the  better ;  but  if  any 
one  should  recognize  and  arrest  you  before  I  get  there, 
you  can  show  the  paper  I  have  given  you,  and  insist  upon 
being  kept  there  till  I  come.  They  won't  think  of  dis- 
puting my  word,  of  course  ;  so  you  will  be  perfectly  safe  ; 
only  be  sure  to  let  nothing  hinder  you  from  being  on 
the  spot  at  the  moment,  for  the  cars  wait  for  nobody.  I 
wish  there  was  some  way  for  you  to  ride ;  but  that  can't 
be  done  without  letting  some  one  else  into  the  secret, 
which  would  not  be  advisable." 

"  O,  neber  mind  'bout  dat,  massa.  I  can  walk  on  de 
scrutch  bery  well  dat  far ;  de  Lord  bless  you  for  all  de 
goodness  you'se  showed  a  poor  'flicted  nigger.  One  dese 
days,  massa,  when  I  gets  well,  you'll  see  you  won't  be 
sorry,"  he  added,  dramng  his  form  to  its  utmost  height, 
and  inflating  his  chest  as  if  to  express  the  swelling  emo- 
tions that  filled  his  heart. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  as  I  object  to  the  Lord's  blessing, 
and  you  must  try  to  do  as  well  as  you  can,"  said  Hubert, 
trying  to  speak  carelessly,  to  hide  his  own  feelings,  which 
were  much  affected.  "Come,  now,"  he  added,  "it  is 
time  to  be  off.  I  will  give  you  just  two  minutes  to  say 
good  by,  and  then  Kissy  must  come  with  me." 

He  walked  into  the  entry,  and  waited  till  Kissy  came 
out.  For  a  little  while,  he  stood  so  close  to  his  mortal 
18* 


210  CASTE. 

enemy,  that  it  Avas  only  by  a  strong  eflfort  the  latter  sup- 
pressed his  desire  to  stab  him  to  the  heart.  Nothing  but 
the  hope  that  he  was  reserved  for  greater  suffering,  and 
more  exquisite  revenge,  saved  the  life  of  Hubert  at  that 
unguarded  moment. 

Presently  Kissy  came,  wiping  away  her  tears,  and  fol- 
lowed by  Michel,  who  hobbled  along  to  hold  the  candle 
for  them. 

"  Be  sure  you  put  the  light  in  that  corner,  where  no- 
body can't  see  it  out  doors,"  said  Kissy,  looking  back  to 
where  he  stood  at  the  head  of  the  stairs. 

"That  is  a  wise  precaution,"  added  Hubert;  "for  the 
night  is  dark,  and  a  light  shows  a  good  way.  Take  care 
of  yourself,  boy,  and  be  sure  and  meet  me  at  the  depot." 

"  Yes,  massa ;  by  t'ee,  Kissy ;  you'll  har  great  tings  ob 
me,  one  dese  yer  days,"  Michel  cried,  cheerfully,  and 
turned  back  to  his  solitary  room. 

They  had  shut  the  door  in  going  out,  and  the  perfect 
silence  that  succeeded  had  in  it  something  appalling.  He 
had  placed  the  light  in  a  shaded  corner,  where  its  dim 
.rays  hardly  lit  the  intense  darkness  of  the  lonely  place, 
but  yet  caused  flickering,  tremulous  shadows,  that  seemed 
instinct  AA'ith  life.  He  placed  himself  near  the  window, 
as  if  in  the  touch  of  the  outer  air  was  some  communica- 
tion from  his  fellows ;  but  the  darkness  and  lonelinesa 
oppressed  him  even  more  than  before ;  he  grew  nervous 
and  excited,  and  could  not  help  fancying  he  heard  the 
sound  of  suppressed  breathing,  and  felt  a  consciousness 


CAPTunz.  211 

of  some  one  near.  Unable  to  endure  his  terroi*,  he  deter- 
mined to  go  down  into  the  garden,  where  he  had  slept 
the  first  night  that  he  came  to  this  place,  and,  taking  the 
light,  had  nearly  reached  the  stairs,  when  he  stumbled 
over  the  shoes  which  Bernard  had  left  behind  him .  Put- 
ting down  the  lamp  to  examine  them,  Michel  uttered  an 
exclamation  of  dismay. 

"  De  Lord  preserve  us.  Somebody  done  been  here  dis 
night  'sides  us  ;  and  now  may  be  ebery  ting  is  lost,  and 
Mass  Hubert  got  heself  into  strouble." 

"  That  he  will,  you  rascal,  and  you,  too,"  said  a  voice, 
while  a  strong  grasp  seized  his  coat.  \ 

Michel's  heart  stood  still  with  mortal  fear,  and  he  re- 
coiled and  shrank  together  like  one  stricken  with  palsy, 
weak  and  trembling  in  every  limb.  He  had  not  heard 
Bernard  following  him,  and  for  a  moment  he  thought 
Satan,  whose  domain  he  half  believed  himself  to  have 
invaded,  had  suddenly  appeared  to  claim  his  victim.  But 
when  his  captor,  shaking  him  roughly,  bade  him  get  up, 
and  threatened  alternately  to  have  him  whipped  to  death 
the  moment  he  got  him  to  his  master,  and  to  cut  his 
throat  if  he  did  not  quietly  consent  to  accompany  him 
there,  the  negro  began  to  recognize  the  satanic  humanity 
into  whose  hands  he  had  fallen ;  and  as  he  recovered  his 
scattered  senses,  and  gradually  rose  to  his  feet,  despera- 
tion took  the  place  of  fear. 

Since  his^  first  exclamation,  he  had  not  replied  a  word  to 
all  the  brutal  tirade  poured  out  upon  him,  or  made  any 


212  CASTE. 

resistance  +0  the  kicks  and  cuffs  which  had  been  so  freely 
administered  ;  but  now,  as  he  stood  face  to  face  with  his 
captor,  whiat  thoughts  swept  through  his  brain !  what  vis- 
ions of  the  happiness  that  had  seemed  so  near,  only  to 
make  lys  disappointment  more  profound  and  hopeless  ! 
The  elim  light  shone  over  his  companion's  face,  but  his 
o^v^n  was  in  shadow ;  else  perhaps  Bernard  would  not  so 
/recklessly  have  left  him  free.  The  latter  was  armed  only 
,'  with  a  bowie  knife,  which  he  had  drawn  and  held  to  Mi- 
chel's throat  in  the  first  moment  of  the  seizure  ;  but  his 
craven  fear  was  so  obvious,  and  his  submission  seemed  so 
entire,  that,  no  longer  apprehending  danger  or  resistance, 
he  now  stood  carelessly  holding  it  in  his  hand,  and  look- 
ing about  him,  said,  talldng  to  himself,  — 

"  Ain't  there  a  rope  in  all  this  cursed  hole  ?  I  must 
have  something  or  other  to  tie  your  hands  with.  How 
I'm  going  to  get  you  away  from  here  I  don't  know.  It 
will  take  you  all  night  to  hobble  on  that  lame  foot.  Hang 
it,  if  I  don't  mean  to  tie  you  up,  so  you  can't  crawl  into 
any  hole  to  hide,  and  leave  you  here  till  morning;  I 
could  if  I  had  a  rope  ;  ain't  there  any  about  here  ?  Tell 
me  quick,  if  you  don't  want  your  throat  cut." 

He  held  the  knife  up  with  a  threatening  gesture,  but 
held  it  still  carelessly,  expecting  the  mere  sight  of  it  to 
intimidate  his  crippled  and  unarmed  captive. 

But  with  a  sudden  blow  of  his  crutch  Michel  struck 
the  knife  from  his  hand,  and  sprang  upon  him.     It  went 


A     DEATH    STRUGGLE.  213 

whizzing  far  out  of  reach,  and  the  next  instant  they 
closed  in  deadly  conflict. 

Bernard  was  the  taller  and  larger  man,  but  Michel's 
muscles  had  been  strengthened  and  hardened  by  a  life  of 
toil,  so  that  he  was  a  match  for  his  antagonist.  Not  a 
word  was  spoken ;  only  theii-  hard  breathings  broke  the 
silence,  as  they  grappled,  and  strained,  and  panted.  Both 
knew  that  the  struggle  was  desperate  ;  one  fought  for  life, 
and  one  for  more,  far  more  than  life,  and  every  nerve  was 
tense,  and  every  sinew  strong  as  steel. 

For  a  long  time  the  issue  of  the  combat  was  doubtful ; 
but  at  length  Bernard  stepped  with  his  whole  weight 
upon  Michel's  wounded  foot,  and  the  exquisite  pain  caus- 
ing him  to  relax  his  hold  an  instant,  Bernard  was  able  to 
get  his  hand  under  the  handkerchief  that  was  tied  loosely 
round  his  neck,  and  twist  it  to  choking  tightness.  In 
vain  he  struggled  ;  the  grasp  ■was  like  that  of  a  vice.  He 
felt  himself  growing  weak,  gasping,  suffocating ;  his  head 
reeling,  the  blood  surging  to  his  brain ;  when,  in  that 
moment  of  nature's  agony,  his  hand,  falling  powerlessly, 
grasped  at  his  coat,  and  pricked  itself  against  the  point  of 
the  rude  knife  which  he  wore  there,  concealed  in  a  pri- 
vate  pocket.  It  was  strange  he  had  -not  thought  of  it 
before ;  it  was  stranger  still  that  at  this  moment  of  be- 
numbing torpor,  this  lightning  thought  should  flash  across 
his  mind,  nerving  his  dying  hand  to  one  more  effort.  He 
seized  the  knife,  made  one  quick  thrust,  guided  by  his 
dim  and  glazing  eye,  and  then  fell  helplessly  to  the  floor. 


214  CASTE. 

A  faint  shriek  reached  his  dull  ear ;  he  felt  some  one 
fall  beside  him,  and  the  strangling  pressure  on  his  throat 
relaxed.  The  light  was  extinguished,  and  it  was  many 
moments  before  he  could  so  far  recover  the  life  which 
had  nearly  fled  as  to  be  able  to  raise  himself  upon 
h.h  elbow  and  listen.  There  was  no  sound ;  the  air  was 
hushed,  the  darkness  intense ;  of  all  the  world,  he 
seeilned  to  himself  at  that  instant  the  only  living  thing. 
Where,  then,  was  his  enemy  ? 

He  reached  forth  his  hand,  and  it  touched  a  face  of  clay, 
warm,  indeed,  and  slippery  with  blood,  but  motionless. 
He  laid  it  on  the  breast,  and  knew  that  the  heart  had 
ceased  to  beat. 

A  cold  sweat  covered  him ;  a  trembling  and  horror 
seized  him  ;  it  was  the  recoil  of  nature  from  blood,  from 
murder,  even  though  it  be  involuntary,  and  in  self-defence. 
To  be  thus  alone,  in  darkaess,  with  the  corpse  of  the  man 
he  had  killed  —  O,  horrible  !  He  raised  himself,  and,  in 
doing  so,  his  hand  fell  on  his  crutch  ;  and,  grasping  it, 
he  groped  his  way  hurriedly  down  the  stairs,  and  out  the 
back  door  into  the  garden.  But  once  safe  under  the 
kindly  starlight,  breathed  upon  by  the  free  air,  other 
thoughts  came  to  him;  and,  remembering  the  awful  peril 
he  had  escaped,  and  the  good  he  had  secured,  now  beam- 
ing more  brightly  than  ever  before  his  mental  eye,  a  stern 
sense  of  triumph  entered  his  soul,  a  vengeful  joy  that 
nerved  and  thrilled  lum. 

He  returned  to  the  house,  and,  having  found  the  candle. 


'N'  I  O  T  O  K  Y  .  2 1  .5 

succeeded  after  some  effort  in  lighting  it,  A\dth  matches 
which  fortunately  he  happened  to  have  in  his  pocket.  It 
had  been  Ipng  in  a  pool  of  blood,  and  the  wick  sputtered 
and  smoked  a  Avhile,  before  it  could  burn  clearly  enough 
to  allow  him  to  see  distinctly  what  he  had  done. 

On  the  floor  Bernard  lay  stretched  upon  his  back. 
Apparently  he  did  not  move  a  muscle  after  he  fell,  for 
his  arms  were  thrown  out  wide,  and  the  knife  was  ^till 
sticking  in  his  eye,  through  which  its  keen  point  had 
pierced  to  the  brain,  and  caused  instant  death. 

Michel  gazed  at  him  a  long  time ;  he  wiped  away  the 
blood  which  covered  the  dead  face,  and  then  first  he  re- 
membered those  features,  and  recognized  the  person  he 
had  killed.  *'  It  ain't  no  sin  to  kill  dat  yer.  I'se  seen 
you,"  (shaking  his  fist  at  the  corpse,)  "I  seen  yer,  wid  de 
dogs,  arter  de  niggers ;  and  de  Lord  knows  how  many 
poor  souls  'sides  myself  I'se  saved  from  worse  dan  death 
dis  night.  You  can't  do  no  more  harm  now,  an'  it'll  be 
some  time  afore  any  body  finds  out  how  'twas  de  debil 
took  ye." 

Here  a  sudden  thought  struck  him.  What  if  some  one, 
kno^\-ing  Bernard  was  coming  this  Avay,  should  miss  him 
from  his  accustomed  haimts,  and  track  him  here  ?  What 
if  !Massa  Hubert  had  been  seen  coming  this  way  and  goino^ 
thence,  in  this  same  night  ?  Michel  knew  that  they  had 
quarrelled  at  Mr.  Warner's  about  him,  and  if  the  quarrel 
was  known,  might  not  the  circumstantial  evidence  point 
Buspicion  to  his  friend  r     He  knew  little  of  the  forms  of 


216 


law,  but  Ids  own  sagacity  told  him  it  would  be  better  for 
all  if  tbe  murdered  man  was  never  found. 

But  how  to  hide  him !  He  had  no  tools  to  dig  a  grave, 
even  if  he  could  carry  the  body  down  stairs,  which  would 
be  difficult ;  and  then  a  grave  would  be  easily  discovered 
in  that  soil,  and  here  Avere  traces  of  blood,  which  he  had 
no  time  or  means  to  efface.  As  he  rejected  one  plan  after 
another,  his  eye  fell  on  the  candle,  which  was  burning 
low,  and  in  an  instant  his  determination  was  fixed. 

The  pieces  of  the  broken  step-ladder  which  had  occa- 
sioned his  accident  still  lay  around,  and  he  piled  them 
together  in  a  spot  where  the  di-aught  of  air  from  the  door 
and  ^^aadow  caused  the  candle  to  flare  most  violently. 
There  were  some  broken  shutters,  which  he  could  tear 
from  the  windows,  and  one  door  that  was  off  its  hinges. 
He  placed  these  around  in  such  a  way  as  to  catch  the 
flame,  and  then  taking  the  bowie  knife,  he  cut  off  his  own 
wristbands,  which  had  been  stained  with  blood,  and, 
thrusting  them  under  the  pile,  tipped  the  candle  so  that 
the  flame  caught  them,  and  left  it  thus  upon  the  floor. 

All  was  as  dry  as  tinder,  and  the  little  flame  leaped, 
and  curled,  and  sprang  up  higher  to  seize  the  larger  bits 
of  wood.  He  waited  to  see  that  his  work  was  sure,  and 
then  went  down,  through  the  garden  and  away  into  the 
fields,  looking  back  now  and  then  to  note  how  the  flame 
grew  larger  and  brighter,  and  sprang  from  room  to  room, 
flashing  through  heavy  hangings  of  cobwebs,  which  it 
had  taken   years   for  time   to   spin,  and  licking  the  dust 


FIRE,     TH£     PURIFIER.  217 

from  the  quaint  mouldings  and  carvings  —  a  zealous  puri- 
fier, that  destroyed  what  it  cleansed. 

When  he  was  at  a  safe  distance,  he  paused,  and  leaning 
on  the  fence  near,  watched  the  conflagration.  Around 
him  was  the  night,  now  at  its  most  hushed  and  witching 
hour ;  but  though  he  had  formerly  suffered  so  much  from 
superstitious  fear,  the  stern  realities  of  the  present  had 
calmed  him  and  made  him  bold.  The  air  was  heavy  and 
oppressive  in  its  stagnant  quiet,  and  the  darkness  seemed 
almost  tangible,  like  a  veil  floating  between  the  earth  and 
the  millions  of  stars  that  shone  in  the  blue  ether.  The 
crescent  moon  hung  over  the  horizon  with  a  faint,  ghastly 
light,  as  if  she  sickened  of  the  sights  she  might  see  in 
the  world  across  whose  zenith  her  path  lay. 

Clearer  and  brighter  the  flames  shone  out  through  the 
windows,  and  the  cracks  of  the  closed  shutters,  and 
smoke  and  sparks  poured  out  of  the  chimney,  with  a  roar 
as  if  renewing  again  the  old  times,  when  festive  voices 
made  merry  music  around  the  hearthstones,  and  the  house 
was  illumined  for  nights  of  Christmas  cheer. 

Glowing  every  moment  more  vividly,  the  blaze  swept 
from  room  to  room ;  and  at  length  it  rushed  from  the 
windows,  it  pressed  out  through  the  roof,  it  wrapped  the 
chimneys,  it  ran  along  the  scorched  and  dj-ing  vines,  scin- 
tillating, flashing,  irradiating  with  its  glare  all  the  murky 
landscape  around.  Then  the  roof  fell  in,  the  walls 
dropped  away,  the  burning  frame  timbers  stood  up  like 
19 


218 


jBery  skeletons  above  the  ignited  mass,  and  the  flames,  no 
longer  sparkling,  leaping,  and  coruscating,  rose  in  long, 
steady  tongues  of  fire,  that  gradually  grew  feebler  and 
lower,  until  all  was  consumed  which  could  give  them 
vitality  ;  their  life  and  vigor  went  out,  and  when  darkness 
and  the  night  resumed  their  silent  reign,  nothing  remained 
to  tell  how  Robert  Bernard,  the  slave  hunter,  had  per- 
ished from  the  earth. 


CHAPTER    TWELFTH, 


"  A  whisper  broke  the  air, 
A  soft,  light  tone  and  low  — 
0,  might  it  only  perish  there  I 
Nor  farther  go." 


HuBEET  Wauxer  departed,  taking  Michel  with  him, 
unquestioned  and  unsuspected.  If  any  one  at  the  depot, 
where  they  waited  for  the  cars,  noticed  that  the  "boy" 
answered  to  the  description  in  the  advertisement  which 
was  posted  on  the  wall  near  him,  his  fearless  air  and  his 
master's  presence  satisfied  them  that  all  was  right. 

When  they  arrived  in  Cuba,  Hubert  procured  medical 
attendance  for  him,  and  he  soon  recovered  from  his  lame- 
ness, and  set  himself  at  work,  full  o'f  hope  and  courage,  to 
earn  his  own  freedom,  and  then  to  lay  up  sufficient  money 
to  buy  his  wife  ;  and  Kissy,  hearing  through  Helen  of 
his  well  doing,  continued  so  cheerfully  in  her  unrequited 
toil,  that  Mrs.  Warner  was  more  than  ever  satisfied  of 
the  policy  of  the  judicious  indulgence  of  servants. 

After  Hubert  had  gone,  Helen  made  another  eifort  to 
go  north  for  the  sunmier ;  but  Mrs.  Warner  pleaded  so 
earnestly,  and  at  length,  anticipating  her  maternal  right, 
so  playftdly  commanded  her  to  yield  to  their  wishes  and 

(219) 


220  CASTE. 

accompany  tliem  on  their  tour  to  the  springs,  that  she 
consented ;  and  her  consent  once  given,  she  entered  with 
zest  into  the  arrangements  which  were  now  being  made  for 
a  prolonged  absence  from  home. 

She  was  no  longer  a  governess ;  in  her  present  con- 
nection with  the  family  that  could  not  for  a  moment  be 
allowed ;  but  the  children  were  attached  to  her,  and  she 
continued  to  give  them  many  lessons  without  books ;  and 
conscious  that  in  her  care  for  them  she  was  useful  to  Mrs. 
Warner,  she  felt  no  degree  of  irksome  dependence  in 
receiving  from  these  kind  friends  the  pleasures  they  were 
so  glad  to  bestow. 

They  visited  the  various  springs  and  places  of  sununer 
resort  in  the  Carolinas  and  Virginia,  and  the  attention 
and  admiration  which  Helen  every  where  received  de- 
lighted her  chaj)erons,  who,  honest  souls,  plumed  them- 
selves not  a  little  upon  having  their  own  sagacity  approved 
by  the  public  voice.  Helen  had  never  before  been  thrown 
into  circles  of  fashion  and  gayety,  and  she  enjoyed  the 
novelty,  the  noise,  the  excitement,  and  the  free  social  life 
of  these  crowded  places,  as  youth  and  health  must  ever 
do  ;  but  the  true  delight  of  this  most  delightful  summer 
was  in  the  secret  chambers  of  her  own  soul,  whose  quiet 
the  world  could  not  for  one  moment  invade  ;  in  the  letters 
that  came  constantly  from  Hubert  —  paper  argosies,  bear- 
ing the  priceless  wealth  of  a  manly  heart ;  and  in  the 
hope  of  the  time,  which  every  day  brought  neai'er,  when 
they  should  no  longer  be  separated.     For  she  was  not  a 


THE    heart's    ixtekior.  221 

person  to  do  or  suffer  any  thing  by*  halves.  She  had  not 
loved  easily,  she  had  been  hard  to  ^^'in  ;  but  once  won, 
no  miser,  gloating  over  his  golden  hoai'd,  ever  held  it 
more  supremely  precious  than  she  the  heai't  for  Avhich 
she  had  exchanged  her  own  ;  no  slave,  nuade  such  by  af- 
fection as  well  as  birth,  ever  gave  up  his  own  will  with 
more  entireness,  or  studied  more  eagerly  to  please  and 
serve,  than  she  sought  to  obey  his  lightest  wish,  and  in 
every  action  to  keep  before  her  hidden  thought  the  cai"e 
for  his  approbation  were  he  near  ;  no  miner,  chained  for 
years  in  the  cold  darkness  of  the  subterranean  world,  ever 
basked  in  the  soft  sunshine  and  warmth  of  upper  air  with 
more  intense  delight  than  she  revelled  in  the  ever-present 
consciousness  of  the  new  life  she  had  attained.  From 
place  to  place  our  happy  party  journeyed,  as  inclination 
prompted  ;  and  after  the  summer  heats  grew  intense  they 
often  found  themselves  in  company  with  Colonel  Bell  and 
his  lady,  who  spent  the  latter  part  of  the  season  in  the 
same  manner.  Helen  was  a  little  sm-prised  at  the  change 
she  noticed  in  each  of  them  with  regard  to  herself  The 
colonel,  who  at  first  had  been  so  kind,  and  evidently  so 
much  interested  in  her,  now  seemed  to  avoid  her  when- 
ever he  coidd  do  so  without  apparent  effort ;  and  his  man- 
ner was  cold,  and  sometimes  she  caught  his  eyes  fixed  on 
her  with  a  troubled,  dreamy  expression,  as  if  he  were 
looking  less  at  her  than  at  the  vague  and  remorseful  mem- 
ories her  face  awakened.  Had  she  been  less  happy,  less 
19* 


222  CASTE. 

preoccupied,  she  would  have  wearied  herself  with  vain 
conjectures  as  to  the  cauee  of  this  ;  but  now  she  gave  it 
little  thought,  and  was  less  affected  by  it  than  by  Mrs. 
Bell's  sudden  and  extreme  politeness  and  sociability. 
This  annoyed  her,  for  she  had  an  instinctive  repugnance 
for  the  lady,  which  could  not  be  conquered  by  her  appar- 
ent friendliness ;  and  she  never  heard  the  soft  tones  and 
honeyed  v.ords  with  which  she  was  now  addressed,  without 
a  wish  to  raise  her  hand  and  pidl  away  the  fair  mask 
wliich  that  face  seemed  to  wear. 

Cunning  dissemblers  were  Colonel  Bell  and  his  wife  ; 
and  none  suspected  the  loathing  and  hatred  which  were 
concealed  beneath  theu'  bland  and  courteous  manner  to 
each  other.  For  hidden  as  it  was,  and  unexpressed,  the 
strife  between  them  had  grown  desperate.  The  one 
crcttTiing  virtue  of  his  life  was  becoming  a  sin  to  him,  in 
the  unholy  and  murderous  thoughts  it  occasioned  his  per- 
plexed brain.  The  one  green  and  fertile  oasis  in  all  the 
barren  desert  of  his  existence  was  being  overgrown  Avith 
poisonous  plants,  whose  very  fragrance  pained  and  sick- 
ened him. 

What  had  become  of  Robert  Bernard  ?  This  question 
haunted  him  night  and  day.  To  his  presence,  to  constant 
and  life-long  annoyance  from  him,  he  had  resigned  him- 
self; but  his  absence,  his  silence,  harassed  him  with  a 
constant  fear,  that  at  any  moment  the  cherished  secret  of 
his  soul  might  be  betrayed  to  gratify  a  brutal  revenge. 
He  had  cautiously  made  inquiries  ;  but  though  he  could 


A     FKIGHTFUL     SUSPICION.  223 

• 

learn  notliing  of  him,  he  dared  not  hope  that  he  was 
dead.  The  man  had  no  near  relatives,  and  few  friends, 
and  even  had  search  been  made  for  him  there  was  no  clew 
by  which  to  trace  him  ;  for  Michel  had  wisely  kept  the 
mystery  locked  in  his  own  breast,  and  no  other  mortal 
knew  what  became  of  him  after  he  left  Columbia. 

Bernard's  strange  absence  puzzled  Mrs.  Bell  no  less 
than  her  husband,  whom  she  could  not  help  suspecting 
privy  to  it ;  and  sometimes  surmises  crossed  her  mind,  so 
#ark  and  horrible  that  they  made  her  cheek  blanch,  even 
while  they  thrilled  her  Avith  a  strange  desire  to  know  the 
truth,  if  it  were  so.  Once  she  had  dared,  in  a  moment 
of  conversation,  to  mention  his  name ;  but  the  r  »lonel 
flashed  upon  her  such  a  glance  from  beneath  hi  bent 
brows,  that  she  hastened  to  pretend  a  reference  t  some 
of  their  chance  acquaintances.  Once,  too,  in  a  pa  xysm 
of  sudden  anger,  she  had  spoken  in  his  ear  that  -s  id  — 
murderer.  But  there  was  no  starting,  no  shrinki  g,  no 
sudden  recoil  at  the  sound,  and  she  could  not  tell  whether 
his  calmness  was  the  result  of  innocence  or  hardihood. 

As  the  season  advanced,  however,  there  had  bsen  a 
change  in  the  colonel's  manner  towards  her.  If  not  more 
kind,  he  was  more  complaisant.  Their  toiir  to  the  springs, 
where  she  had  exhibited  her  magnificence  to  the  emy  of 
competitors,  had  been  a  gratification  to  which  he  acceded 
without  the  least  objection ;  and  when  she  spoke  of  ac- 
companying him  to  Europe,  though  he  did  not  consent, 
he  no  longer  sternly  and  decidedly  refused.     "Why  then 


224  •  CASTE. 

could  she  not  be  content  to  leave  him  unmolested,  and 
allow  the  claim  which  he  apparently  recognized,  though 
he  would  not  acknowledge,  to  procure  for  her  what  she 
had  so  long  desired  and  could  not  otherwise  obtain ; 
for,  if  there  were  no  other  reason,  her  father,  who  had 
lordly  ideas  of  man's  supremacy,  had  left  the  property 
she  inherited  subject  to  her  husband's  will.  Why  should 
she  hazard  her  fondest  ambition  ?  to  gratify  her  spite  ? 
Why?  Ah,  who  can  tell  how  blinded,  how  enslaved, 
how  helpless  a  person  is,  who  for  years  has  yielded  to  the 
sway  of  bad  passions,  and  broken  one  by  one  the  restraints 
of  virtue  and  truth  ?  It  becomes  so  easy  to  betray  the 
secret  malice,  that  one  does  it  often  unconsciously ;  and 
the  constant  presence  of  Helen  Dupre  suggested  a  temp- 
tation too  strong  for  Clara  Bell  to  resist.  She  hardly 
knew  when  and  where  the  first  insinuation  was  made,  the 
first  whisper  hazarded.  She  dared  do  nothing  openly  ;  but 
this  only  made  the  exercise  of  a  secret  power  more  irresist- " 
ibly  fascinating  to  her.  Beautiful  serpent  that  she  was, 
she  stung  in  the  lair  where  she  had  hidden,  Math  a  double 
zest,  because  she  knew  that  if  she  was  seen,  the  heel  she 
wounded  would  be  raised  to  crush  her. 

It  is  a  frightful  thing  to  reflect  how  little  we  really 
know  of  the  thoughts  and  opinions  Avhich  those  with  whom 
we  associate  may  really  hold  in  regard  to  us,  and  how  a 
rumor  that  involves  the  dearest  interests  of  our  lives 
may  circulate  from  lip  to  ear,  through  the  whole  circle  of 
our  acquaintance,  and  we  all  the  while  be  unconscious  that 


THE     POISONAT    WORK.  22l 

the  faces  we  look  upon  are  studiously  hiding  what  il 
would  shock  us  to  know.  It  is  amazing  that  these  fatal 
words  can  be  uttered  and  reuttered,  and  become  trite  and 
old  with  all  who  know  us,  and  we  be  the  last  to  hear. 
Thus  it  was  in  this  case.  Through  one  company  aftei 
another  the  baleful  whisper  floated,  and  they  whom  it 
most  concerned  walked  on  unperceiving ;  like  the  travel- 
ler who,  peacefully  journeying,  knows  not  that  his  way  is 
*lilong  the  utmost  verge  of  a  precipice.  The  disgrace  was 
too  overwhelming,  the  consequences  to  Helen  too  terrible, 
for  any  to  dare  lightly  to  mention  it  to  the  family  -\nth 
which  she  was  connected ;  and  thinking  that  after  all  it 
might  not  be  true,  for  few  knew  certainly  whence  the 
report  proceeded,  partly  from  the  fear  and  partly  from  the 
pity  of  their  friends,  they  remained  ignorant. 

But,  by  degrees,  hints  and  suspicions  began  to  reach 
the  ears  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Warner.  People  they  met  com- 
plimented Helen  with  an  air  of  mental  reservation,  asked 
mysterious  questions  about  her  birth  and  parentage,  sug- 
gested the  possibility  that  she  might  be  of  Spanish  or 
Indian  descent,  —  certainly  not  American,  —  and  the  im- 
portance of  being  able  to  trace*  one's  family.  It  was 
a  long  time  before  even  this  aroused  any  doubt  or  mis- 
trust ;  and  when  at  last  the  repeated  inquiries  excited  curi- 
osity, it  was  still  more  difficult  to  gain  from  any  one  a 
reason  for  the  questioning.  The  story  fled  before  pursuit, 
as  a  morning  vapor  cui'ls  back^vard  and  vanishes  when 
the  sun's  rays  dart  upon  it.     Xo  one  liked  to  assume  the 


22G  CASTE. 

responsibility  of  telling  the  bad  news,  with  proofs  and 
vouchers,  and  it  was  not  until,  as  they  Avere  returning 
home  in  October,  they  met  an  old  friend  and  neighbor  who 
had  heard  it,  that  Mr.  Warner  first  knew  definitely  what 
was  said. 

They  were  then  within  a  day's  journey  of  their  home, 
and,  shocked  and  distressed  beyond  measure,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Warner  determined  to  say  nothing  about  the  matter 
to  Helen  until  they  had  satisfied  themselves  that  what 
they  had  heard  Avas  correct.  This  could  only  be  done  by 
a  personal  interview  with  Colonel  Bell,  Avho  had  returned 
a  few  days  in  advance  of  them. 

It  Avas  painful  to  meet  Helen  the  next  morning,  to  see 
her  cheerfulness  and  her  enjoyment  of  every  moment. 
She  had  become  very  dear  to  them,  and  they  knew  that 
to  their  son  she  was  the  •  one  precious  thing  Avhich  made 
the  joy  of  life ;  but  if  this  report  should  prove  true,  they 
must  send  her  away  from  them,  that  her  separation  from 
him  might  be  more  complete  and  final.  All  their  friend- 
ship and  admiration  for  her  shrank  into  nothing  before  the 
idea  that  she  Avas  taintecl  Avith  the  blood  of  the  abject 
race  over  Avhich  they  lorded.  They  could  hardly  treat 
her  as  they  had  done  Avhile  even  the  suspicion  attached 
to  her ;  and  yet  to  inform  her  would  be  too  cruel  Avhile  a 
doubt  remained  that  the  charge  Avas  true. 

Divided  between  their  fears  and  their  pity,  they  had 
passed  nearly  the  Avhole  night  in  conversation  and  conjec- 
tures, not  unmixed   with   tears  from  Mrs.  Warner,  and 


A     FRIEND     IN     NEED.  227 

ejaculations  from  her  husband  of  thankfulness,  that  if  it 
should  prove  as  they  feared,  the  discovery  had  been  made 
before  a  marriage  had  complicated  affairs  still  further,  and 
brought  the  scandal  and  disgrace  more  entirely  into  the 
bosom  of  their  family. 

Unused  to  concealment,  it  was  hard  for  them  to  hide 
their  perturbation  during  the  next  day's  drive  ;  but  when 
Helen  noticed  the  loss  of  their  usual  cheerfulness,  they 
excused  themselves  by  talking  about  the  hard  beds  and 
the  musquitos  of  the  previous  night,  and  made  desperate 
attempts  at  gayety  with  the  children ;  —  with  Helen  they 
could  not  laugh.  When  they  stopped  at  the  country  imi 
to  dine,  they  were  all  glad  to  see  a  familiar  carriage  be- 
fore the  door,  and  within  it  the  pale,  sweet  face  of  Mrs. 
Avenel. 

She  was  equally  pleased  to  see  them.  She  had  been  a 
short  distance  for  a  visit  of  a  few  days,  and  Avas  now 
returning  homeward.  She,  too,  had  heard  the  rumor  re- 
specting Helen,  for  the  friend  whom  she  visited  had  been 
at  the  White  Sulphur  Springs  when  the  Warners  and 
Colonel  Bell  were  there  ;  and  her  unworldly  heart  swelled 
with  a  stronger  love  for  the  unfortunate,  from  whom  other 
friends  were  ready  to  drop  away. 

"  Come  and  ride  with  me  ;  I  am  going  by  Mrs.  War- 
ner's, and  will  set  you  down  there,"  she  said  to  Helen, 
when  they  were  ready  to  leave  after  dinner,  and  Helen 
willingly  consented. 


228  CASTE. 

"  "When  do  you  expect  Hubert  ?  "  she  asked,  as  soon  a3 
they  had  started. 

"  This  is  the  first  day  of  October,"  she  answered, 
blushing,  "  and  he  writes  me  that  he  shall  sail  from  Cuba 
on  the  twenty-fifth." 

"  So  long  ?  I  hoped  he  would  have  been  here  sooner," 
Mrs.  Avenel  said;  and  she  tried  to  look  at  Helen,  to  see 
if  she  suspected  why  she  wished  it,  but  her  eyes  filled  so 
with  tears  that  she  was  obliged  to  look  down  to  hide  them. 

Helen  wondered  a  little  at  her  words  and  manner,  but 
her  friend  was  often  sad,  and  without  seeming  to  notice, 
she   replied,  "  Yes,  in  four   weeks   he  will   be  here,  and 

then "      She    paused,    looking    up    half  shyly,  half 

archly,  but  Mrs.  Avenel  only  said,  — 

"  True  :  what  then  ?  "Who  can  tell  what  a  day  may 
bring  forth?     Dear  Helen,  do  not  hope  too  much." 

"  I  try  not  to,"  she  answered,  saddened  and  aff'ected  by 
the  tremulous  tones  and  the  air  of  gentle  sorrow ;  "  you 
seem  in  low  spirits  to-day,  dear  Mrs.  Avenel.  Why  is  it  ? 
What  has  happened  ?  " 

"•Nothing,"  said  Mrs.  Avenel,  growing  nervous,  and 
hesitating;  "  that  is  —  nothing  has  occurred  to  me  per- 
sonally ;  but  one  is  sad  sometimes  for  one's  friends,  you 
know." 

"  Yes,  I  know  ;  but  you  must  be  glad  noxo  for  me.  My 
life  is  as  bright  as  this  sunlit  afternoon,"  said  Helen,  try- 
ing to  cheer  her. 

"  But  the  future  is  very  uncertain.     I  am  glad  you  are 


TEKFECT     HAPPINESS.  229 

happy  now,  dear,  and  I  hope  and  pray  you  may  never  be 
other\Aise  ;  but  you  know  trouble  may  <;ome,  and  I  hope 
you  will  try  to  be  prepared  for  it,  if  it  should.  I  have 
lived  longer  than  you,  dear,  and  have  seen  so  many  bright 
hopes  go  out  in  darkness,  that  it  almost  makes  me  trem- 
ble to  see  any  one  so  very  joyful  and  happy.  Trouble 
always  comes  after  it.  I  don't  want  to  frighten  you,  but 
I  do  hope  you  won't  be  too  sanguine  about  the  future. 
All  is  uncertain  in  this  life." 

Helen  was  impressed  by  her  earnest  manner,  but  with 
the  perversity  of  her  exulting  happiness,  she  could  not 
understand  it.  How  could  sorrow  touch  her  7  Was  she 
not  beloved  ?  Had  not  a  strong  hand  torn  away  the  veil 
from  the  future,  into  which  she  was  wont  to  look  some- 
times Avith  foreboding  glances,  and  shoA\Ti  her  the  home 
of  joy  which  awaited  her  ?  She  could  admit  the  truth  of 
that  trite  saying,  she  could  even  poetize  upon  sorrow  as 
a  vague  abstraction,  but  she  could  not  think  that  the 
phantom  would  take  form  and  substance,  and  seize  her 
with  an  iron  grasp,  and  press  out  her  heart's  life-blood. 
Therefore  it  was,  that  humoring  her  companion's  mood, 
and  musing  with  dreamy  carelessness  upon  the  thought 
presented,  she  went  on  —  poor  victim !  —  playing  with  the 
knife  that  was  to  sacrifice  her. 

"  What  you  say  is  true,"  she  said,  caressing  the   thin, 
white  hand  which  the  widow  had  laid  in  hers.     "  Some- 
times it  quite  startles  me  to  think  of  the  sudden  surprises 
20 


230  CASTE. 

that  meet  us  every  wiiere  in  life  ;  of  the  abruptness  with 
which  the  monotony  is  broken.  For  a  time  one  day  goes 
on  like  another,  and  there  seems  no  reason  why  the  rou- 
tine should  not  continue  ;  and  then,  hey  !  presto  !  change  ! 
and  we  wake  up  to  realize  that  all  our  thoughts  and  plans 
are  turned  into  a  new  channel ;  but  when  the  shock  is 
over,  and  we  catch  our  breath  again,. are  we  not  as  happy 
as  before  ?  nay,  often  far  happier." 

She  smiled  softly  to  herself  as  she  spoke.  It  was  easy 
to  see  whither  her  thoughts  had  flown.  But  Mrs.  Avenel 
said,  ^^itll  a  quiet  sigh,  — 

"  Ah,  Helen,  sometimes  we  lose  life  and  breath  together 
in  the  shock." 

"  Sometimes  —  yes.  I  was  thinking  of  this  subject  the 
other  day,  and  I'll  tell  you  what  it  seems  like  to  me.  It 
is  like  those  vast  plains,  of  which  travellers  in  the  west 
give  account,  where,  as  one  passes  on,  the  eye  looks  for- 
ward over  what  seems  an  unbroken  level,  growing  bright- 
er and  greener  in  the  distance,  and  ever  smoother  as  the 
inequalities  disappear  in  the  golden  haze  with  which  the 
atmosphere  invests  remote  spaces.  The  traveller  dreams 
not  of  change ;  but  suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  his  secu- 
rity, a  chasm  yawns  at  his  feet,  steep,  and  with  rugged 
sides,  down  which  he  must  plunge  in  pain  and  peril,  and 
along  the  rocky  bed  of  whose  swollen  streams  he  must 
wander,  the  fine  prospect  all  shut  out,  his  wide  horizon 
reduced  to  the  narrow  limit  of  those  precipitous  banks, 
until,  after  infinite   difficulty  and  no  little  loss,  he  finds 


HAPPY     IGNOKANCE.  231 

some  place  where  lie  can  scramble  up  again  to  tkc  level 
plain  above.  Thus  do  we  look  forward  unsuspectingly 
over  the  fair  prairie  of  life,  and  thus  do  we  descend  into 
the  canons  of  disappointment,  defeat,  and  sorrow,  before 
we  can  continue  our  onward  journey." 

Mrs.  Avenel  looked  at  the  bright  young  face  beside 
her,  and  again  tears  filled  her  eyes  as  she  essayed  to 
speak.  Helen  saw  them,  and  glancing  at  the  widow's 
mourning  dress,  she  added,  softly,  "  And  sometimes  those 
who  went  do^A^^  M'ith  us  into  those  gloomy  passes  return 
no  more  to  the  sunshine  and  flowers  of  upper  air.  The 
stream  at  the  bottom  of  the  gorge  is  to  them  the  River 
of  Death." 

The  tears  ran  down  over  the  widow's  pale  cheeks. 
"  Alas,"  she  said,  "  how  many  fall  thus  !  how  lonely  the 
journey  becomes  as  years  roll  on  !  how  sudden  is  always 
the  sense  of  loss  !  " 

"Yes,"  replied  Helen,  "though  all  things  on  earth  arc 
continually  repeating  that  stern  lesson  that  death  is,  of 
all  things,  the  one  sure  and  inevitable,  there  is  in  human 
nature  such  an  antagonism  to  it,  that  we  always  meet  it 
with  a  shock.  And  no  wonder  !  How  beautiful  is  life  ! 
how  the  heart  rejoices  in  it,  even  after  experience  has 
taught  us  of  the  yawning  gulfs  which  lie  hidden  beneath 
the  smooth  surface  of  the  plain  !  God  meant  us  to  be 
happy,  or  else  we  should  not  have  this  gushing  fountain 
of  hope,  this  capacity  to  forget  past  pain,  and  find  enjoy- 
ment and  occupation  in  the  present.     Try  to  do  this,  dear 


232 


Mrs.  Avenol,  and  to  be  tappy.  You  have  lost  much,  but 
you  still  have  much  left." 

To  see  her  thus  unconscious  was  more  than  Mrs. 
Avcnel  could  bear.  "  O,  dear  child,"  she  exclaimed, 
"  you  know  little  of  sorrow,  if  you  think  death  is  the 
worst  foe  to  happiness  ;  "  and  leaning  back  in  her  car- 
riage, she  gave  way  to  tears  she  could  no  longer  restrain. 

Helen  was  surprised  at  her  emotion,  but  she  tried  to 
soothe  and  divert  her  by  talking  of  other  things,  and  she 
partially  succeeded ;  but  she  was  sad  all  the  afternoon, 
and  asked  Helen  many  questions  aboiit  her  early  life,  try- 
ing to  make  her  talk  of  herself,  and  to  arouse  in  her 
mind  some  sense  of  the  danger  Avhich  hung  over  her ;  and 
when,  after  sunset,  the  carriage  stopped  at  Mr.  Warner's 
door,  and  Helen  gave  her  a  hand  at  "parting,  she  kissed 
her  tenderly,  and  said,  with  an  emphasis  so  marked  that 
it  could  not  fail  to  arrest  her  attention,  — 

"  My  dear  Helen,  I  love  you,  and  Avill  ahvays  be  your 
friend,  whatever  happens.  If  trouble  comes  upon  you, 
remember  this,  and  come  to  me." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  exclaimed  Helen,  in  some  alarm ; 
but  there  was  no  time  for  reply,  for  at  that  moment  the 
carriage  door  was  opened,  and  a  clear,  happy  voice  said,  — 

"  Welcome  home,  Helen,  welcome  home  !  " 

Mrs.  Avenel  gave  a  faint  exclamation  of  joyful  surprise  ; 
but  Helen,  paling  and  then  flushing  at  the  sound  of  that 
well-known  voice,  uttered  not  a  word  as  she  surrendered 
both  liands  to  the  quick,  strong  hands  that  grasped  them. 


A     JOYFUI,    SUKPRISE.  233 

and,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  her*  lips  likewise  to  the  lips 
that  demanded  of  them  tribute. 

"  Now  it  is  my  turn  to  say  how  d'ye,  and  a  warm  wel- 
come to  you,  Mr.  Hubert  Warner,'"  said  Mrs.  Avenel, 
smiling,  as  she  held  out  her  hand.  "  How  happened  you 
to  return  just  at  the  right  time,  when  we  were  wishing 
Xor  you,  but  did  not  expect  you  ?  " 

••  I  found  a  weak  place  in  the  sei'ried  ranks  of  business 
engagements,  and  I  broke  through  vi  el  arinis.  But  were 
you  wishing  for  me  ?  —  was  she  ?  "  nodding  towards  Helen. 
"  Has  she  been  a  good  girl  since  I've  been  gone  ?  " 

"Mighty  good  —  excellent.  Be  sure  you  treat  her 
well,  now  you  have  returned."' 

"  I  don't  know  about  that.  It  depends  upon  how  she 
behaves.  I  used  to  find  her  mighty  hard  to  manage," 
Hubert  said,  laughing. 

"  And  we  are  to  have  a  second  '  Taming  of  the  Shrew,' 
I  suppose.     Poor  Petruchio,  I  pity  you." 

"  Thank  you  for  your  pity,  but  —  she  hardly  looks  as 
if  she'd  be  '  a  graceless  traitor  to  her  loAong  lord,'  now, 
does  she  ?  "  he  added,  as  his  eye  followed  Mrs.  Avenel's 
glance,  which  rested  on  Helen's  smiling  and  happy  face. 

"  Appearances  are  deceitful,  but  still  I  think  I  should 
trust  her,"  rejoined  she,  as  Hubert  helped  Helen  from  the 
carriage,  and  then,  as  the  servants  came  crowding  around 
with  their  noisy  welcomes,  their  "  how  d'yes,"  and  "  bress 
de  honey,  she  done  come  back,"  Mrs.  Avcncl  laid  her  hand 
20'' 


234  CASTE. 

on  his  arm,  and  added,  earnestly,  "  Remember  what  I  told 
you  —  be  careful  that  you  value  your  treasure  aright." 

He  looked  at  her  Avith  some  surprise ;  but  she  meant  to 
stay  for  no  explanation,  and  giving  the  word  to  her 
driver,  nodded  a  good  by,  and  was  off  as  fast  as  two  fleet 
horses  could  carry  her. 

"  Has  Mrs.  Avenel  gone  ?  "  said  Helen,  looking  rounds 
"  I  meant  to  have  invited  her  to  come  in  and  take  tea  with 
us.  Why  did  you  let  her  go  so  soon  ?  what  was  she  say- 
ing to  you?  what  makes  you  look  so  sober  ?  " 

"  What  a  string  of  questions  !  Curiosity,  thy  name  is 
Helen,"  Hubert  answered,  smiling  away  his  momentary 
annoyance  as  he  led  her  into  the  house. 

"  But  I  really  want  to  knoAv  what  she  said  to  you. 
There  has  been  something  peculiar  in  her  manner  all  thtj 
afternoon." 

"  Very  likely,"  he  answered,  carelessly  ;  "  ladies  always 
get  full  of  whims  and  fancies  when  they  live  alone  as 
much  as  she  does." 

"  But  she  intimated  that  some  evil  Avas  about  to  befall 
me  of  which  I  Avas  unaAvare,  and  I  believe  she  has  been 
trying  to  hint  something  she  had  not  courage  to  speak," 
persisted  Helen. 

"  Evil  befall  yon  !  nonsense  !  Avhat  can  happen  to  hurt 
younoAv.  Am  not  I  here  7''  And  being  uoav  in  the  parlor, 
Avith  the  door  shut,  this  veracious  historian  must  record 
that  he  folded  his  arms  about  the  graceful  form  beside 
him,  and  prossod  liis  lips  to  hers  Avith  a  prolonged  em- 


ALWAYS     CLOSE     THE     SHUTTERS.  235 

brace,  from,  which  he  was  startled  by  a  slight  noise  at 
the  window.  Turning,  he  saw  the  round  head  and  twin- 
kling eyes  of  Caesar  Augustus  thrust  eagerly  through  the 
half-open  shutter,  his  mouth  working  and  his  lips  smack- 
ing from  sympathy  ;  and  finding  liimself  discovered,  he 
called  out  with  a  naivete  that  would  have  deceived  one 
who  knew  him  less. 

"  Ki !  Mass  Hubert,  'jiears  like  dat  ar  mus'  taste 
good ! " 

"  This  is  unendurable  !  "  Hubert  exclaimed,  wrathfully, 
making  a  spring  to  catch  him ;  but  he  ran  roulid  the  cor- 
ner and  down  the  steps  with  the  swiftness  of  a  hare,  and 
when  he  had  reached  a  safe  distance,  they  heard  him 
singing,  — 

"Charley  loves  good  cake  and  ale, 

Charley  loves  good  liraiidy, 

Charley  loves  to  kiss  the  girls 

As  sweet  as  sugar  candy." 

Mrs.  Avenel's  carriage  had  so  far  out-travelled  the  large 
and  heavily-laden  family  coach,  that  the  lovers  had  been 
half  an  hour  engaged  in  quiet  and  delicious  converse  be- 
fore-the  renewed  commotion  among  the  servants  gave 
token  of  its  approach.  Hubert  heard  his  father's  voice 
giving  directions  about  untying  the  trunks,  and  his  moth- 
er's hearty  tones  as  she  answered  and  asked  questions, 
and  responded  to  greetings,  in  the  same  breath,  while  the 
children  were  being  half-smothered  in  kisses  and  caresses. 
"  Come,  let  us  go  to  meet  them,"  he  said  to  Helen  ;  and 
they  went  out  together,  at  the  very  moment  when  a  dozen 


236  CASTE. 

voices  uttered,  simultaneously,  "  Mass'  Hubert  done  come 
las'  night."  Hubert,  stooping  down  to  catch  up  little 
Angle,  who  had  at  the  first  glimpse  sprung  to  meet  him, 
did  not  see  the  expression  of  blank  dismay  that  over- 
spread the  faces  of  both  his  parents  at  the  sound  of  his 
name,  or  witness  the  glance  which  passed  between  them ; 
but  Helen  noticed  both,  and  her  heart  beat  with  a  wild 
and  sudden  fear.  What  was  it  that  could  cloud  these 
brows,  wont  to  beam  mth  such  unchanging  good  nature, 
and  make  these  parents  fear  to  see  their  son  ?  Faint  and 
pale  she  turned  away,  longing  to  ask  these  questions,  and 
yet  dreading  the  answer  that  might  be  given ;  and  she 
watched  with  nervous  anxiety  through  the  evening  for 
some  solution  of  the  fearful  mystery.  But  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Warner  left  them  alone,  alleging  household  affairs  as  an 
excuse  for  absence  ;  and  Hubert  laughed  at  what  he  called 
her  fancies,  and  tenderly  chid  her  for  unreasonable  gloom 
at  an  hour  when  her  joy  should  be  absorbing  and  entire. 


"  Have  you  sent  word  to  Colonel  Bell  ?  "  inquired  Mrs. 
Warner  of  her  husband,  as  they  retired  to  their  chamber. 

"  Yes,  I  wrote  a  note  after  tea,  and  despatched  a  boy 
with  it,  asking  him  to  come  over  to-morrow.  I  say,  wife, 
if  he  has  known  this  all  the  time,  and  it  is  true,  he  has 
been  most  shamefully  imposing  on  us.  By  gracious ! 
I've  known  duels  fought  for  far  smaller  offences.-  Think 
of  trying  to  palm  a  girl  with  negro  blaod  in  her  veins  on 


FAMILY     PLAXS.  237 

US  as  a  white  person,  and  allowing  our  son  to  maiTy  her. 
It  is  outrageous." 

"  My  only  hope  is,  that  the  story  is  not  true,"  said  his 
wife,  in  a  tone  as  faint  as  her  hope  was.  "  If  I  hadn't 
heard  so  much,  at  the  time  it  happened,  about  that  girl 
who  hewatched  Colonel  Bell,  I  should  say  it  could  not 
be  triie.  But  there  is  no  telling  what  a  man  may  do,  who 
went  so  far  as  he  did ; "  and  she  sighed  heavily. 

"  I  declare  I  want  to  horsewhip  him  !  How  much 
trouble  it  will  make  !  And  we  have  thought  so  much  of 
Helen  !     Poor  child,  it  wdll  be  hard  for  her." 

"  It  will,  indeed.  I  can't  bear  to  think  what  she  will 
suffer  ;  but  then  there  is  no  alternative.  Of  coiu'se  Hu- 
bert must  give  her  up." 

"  Certainly,  there  is  no  question  about  that.  He  is  so 
fond  of  her  that  I  believe  nothing  else  would  induce  him 
to  break  off  the  match  —  not  even  illegitimate  birth,  if 
she  were  only  white  —  but  he  cannot  do  any  thing  else 
now." 

They  spoke  sadly,  but  with  a  certain  degree  of  calm- 
ness. In  spite  of  all  their  former  appreciation  of  Helen, 
and  affection  for  her,  they  had,  from  the  moment  they 
admitted  the  strong  suspicion  that  she  was  of  negro 
lineage,  insensibly  and  unconsciously  held  their  sympa- 
thies a  little  aloof  from  her,  removed  her  a  little  way  over 
the  line  which  separated  them  from  the  lower  race.  So 
strong  was  the  force  of  prejudice,  so  rooted  the  habit  of 


238  CASTE. 

regarding  the  sensibilities  of  such,  as  blunter,  the  feel- 
ings less  keen,  than  their  own,  that  they  could  no  longer 
think  of  her  as  enjoying  or  suffering  as  she  once  did. 
They  cared  nothing  for  her  poverty,  little  for  the  uncer- 
tainty which  hung  over  her  early  days ;  all  that  would 
have  moved  some  minds  had  been  nobly  disdained  by 
them,  so  long  as  they  considered  her  entitled  to  the  sym- 
pathy which  was  so  freely  accorded  by  them  to  any  of  their 
own  race.  But  this  unlooked-for,  im.thought-of  knowl- 
edge presented  an  obstacle  which  could  not  be  overcome, 
and  changed  at  once  the  whole  current  of  their  thoughts 
and  feelings. 


CHAPTER    THIRTEENTH 


'  She  was  a  form  of  lifo  and  liglit, 
That,  seen,  became  apart  of  sight, 
And  rose  where'er  I  turned  my  eye, 
The  morning  star  of  memory." 

"  I  grant  my  love  imperfect,  all 
That  mortals  by  the  name  miscall ; 
Then  deem  it  evil,  what  thou  wilt, 
But  say,  0,  say,  hers  was  not  guilt." 


The  evening  was  Avaning.  There  had  been  company 
to  dinner,  and  as  they  had  ixpt  long  been  gone,  Mrs.  Bell 
still  remained  in  the  drawing  room,  leaning  back  Avith 
stately  gracefulness  in  the  depths  of  a  cool  but  luxurious 
cane  chair,  whose  light  meshes  did  not  hinder  her  enjoy- 
ment of  the  mild  breeze  that  sighed  through  the  apart- 
ment. She  was  dressed  in  white  muslin,  elaborately  em- 
broidered;  jewels  decked  her  hair,  confining  a  coiffure 
of  delicate  black  lace,  which  contrasted  with  her  glossy, 
golden  hair,  and  falling  down  to  her  shoulders,  height- 
ened the  dazzling  whiteness  of  her  neck,  and  the  delicate 
bloom  of  her  cheek,  where  a  faint  roseate  light  seemed 
shining  through  the  transparent  complexion.  Two  or 
three  bracelets  encircled  her  arms,  which  the  loose  sleeves 

(239) 


240 


falling  back  left  bare  nearly  to  the  shoulders,  and  a  neck- 
lace with  pendents  of  rare  device  rose  and  fell  with  the 
white  curves  of  her  bosom.  Behind  her  stood  a  young 
girl,  whose  plain  attire  and  dusky  hue  served  as  a  foil 
for  this  regal  and  radiant  beauty,  from  whom  her  ever- 
waving  fan  of  gaudy  peacock  feathers  kept  the  musquitos, 
and  the  too  oppressive  heat  of  the  night. 

At  a  little  distance  from  her,  Colonel  Bell  was  lounging 
on  a  divan,  reading  ^.  newspaper.  For  a  few  days  an 
unusual  harmony  had  prevailed  between  these  married 
foes.  Hearing  nothing  from  Bernard,  and  nothing  of 
him,  the  colonel  was  beginning  to  hope  that  some  un- 
known accident  had  fortunately  taken  him  out  of  the  way, 
and  it  had  occurred  to  him  that,  this  being  the  case,  it 
would  insure  the  safety  of  his  darling  child  to  remove  his 
wife  from  this  part  of  the  country ;  and  to  do  this,  the 
most  feasible  plan  was  to  accede  to  her  desire  for  a  Eu- 
ropean residence.  Therefore  he  had  been  cautious  to 
avoid  offending  her  ;  the  sarcastic  remarks  which  used  to 
enrage  her  had  entirely  ceased,  and  the  servants  wondered 
to  see  them  polite,  and  almost  kind  to  each  other. 

Mrs.  Bell  was  good  naturcd,  for  she  thought  her  tri- 
umph over  her  husband  was  complete,  and  with  pleased 
alacrity  she  had  commenced  her  preparations  for  an  early 
departure.  The  thought  of  her  perfidy  towards  him  only 
troubled  her  as  the  fear  crossed  her  mind  that  the  rumor 
she  had  put  in  circulation  might  reach  his  car  before  tlio 


A    BOMB     SHELL.  241 

time  fixed  for  leaving  ;  but  even  in  that  case,  slie  trusted 
to  tlie  difficulty  of  tracing  the  report  to  her. 

A  light  footstep  approached,  and  a  servant,  bowing  ob- 
sequiously, handed  the  colonel  a  letter  in  a  shallow  basket 
of  silver  filigree  work.  He  took  it,  inquiring  if  any  an- 
swer was  requested,  and  being  informed  that  the  servant 
who  brought  it  had  gone  immediately,  he  laid  it  aside 
until  he  had  finished  the  article  he  was  reading. 

Then  sitting  up,  he  opened  it  with  a  careless  expression 
of  wonder  as  to  which  of  his  neighbors  had  been  writing 
to  him ;  but  the  words  were  arrested  on  his  lips,  as  he 
glanced  at  the  signature,  and  even  by  the  dim  light  which 
pervaded  the  room,  Clara  saw  that,  as  he  read,  his  face 
grew  pale  and  paler,  until  its  whiteness  was  ghastly,  and 
a  cold  sweat  stood  on  his  brow.  Then  came  the  dark,  the 
terrible  expression  into  his  eyes,  and  around  the  rigid  lines 
of  his  mouth,  —  the  expression  from  which  she  always 
shrank,  and  rismg  suddenly,  the  letter  crushed  in  his 
hand,  he  crossed  over  to  where  she  sat,  and  seizing  her 
shoulders  in  a  strong  grasp  that  left  marks  on  their  pol- 
ished surface,  he  shook  her  slightly,  with  a  convulsive 
motion,  as  if  he  could  have  torn  her  to  pieces,  and,  bend- 
ing down,  hissed  in  her  ear,  — 

"  Woman  —  liar  —  you  have  betrayed  me  ! " 

It  was  a  frightful  moment ;  and  the'  servant  dropped 
the  fan  with  a  cry  of  fear,  as  she  saw  the  action  and  the 
look  ;  but  though  she  trembled  before  it,  Clara's  self- 
21 


242 


possession  did  not  desert  her.  Meeting  the  fury  of  his 
glance  with  a  timid  air  of  injured  innocence,  she  said,  in 
deprecating  tones,  — 

"  Indeed  I  have  not.  Why  should  I  ?  Have  you  not 
done  all  I  asked  of  you?  " 

"  Why  do  you  shrink  and  tremble  so,  then  ?  You 
know  you  are  lying  to  me." 

"  I  am  not ;  pray,  believe  me  ;  but  you  hurt  me  ;  your 
nails  are  piercing  my  skin  j  see  there  !  "  and  as  he  removed 
his  hand,  she  held  up  the  smooth  shoulder,  livid  with  his 
strong  pressure.  His  manhood  blushed  at  the  idea  of 
physical  cruelty  to  a  woman,  and,  as  he  murmured  some 
indistinct  apology,  she  took  courage,  and  added,  —  . 

"  Who  has  accused  mo  of  this  ?  What  reason  can  I 
have  for  wishing  to  injure  you?  " 

She  had  gone  too  far  in  her  mock  humility,  and  his  lip 
curled  in  scorn  as  he  replied,  "  What  reason,  indeed  !  Do 
you  think  me  a  fool  ?  Remember  the  flower  you  gave 
me  ;  I  have  it  yet.  Remember'  its  meaning  —  concealed 
hatred.  Yes,  you  hate  me  ;  I  know  it ;  and  if  it  were 
otherwise,  there  is  that  in  you  which  would  make  you 
rejoice  to  trample  in  the  dust  one  who  was  weaker  than 
yourself.  Clara  Bell,  I  know  you  well,  and  if  you  have 
been  the  cause  of  this  disappointment,  you  shall  rue  the 
day  in  which  you  dared  my  power." 

That  little  word  if  gave  her  hope,  since  it  showed  he 
was  not  quite  certain  of  her  perfidy,  and  she  answered 


CRAFT     VICTORIOUS.  243 

calmly,  and  with,  enough  of  her  usual  hauteur  to  give 
what  she  said  the  semblance  of  sincerity,  — 

"  Since  you  are  determined  to  regard  me  as  an  enemy, 
and  to  deny  me  the  le9.st  possible  kind  feeling,  pray  con- 
sider. Colonel  Bell,  that  I  should  lose  every  thing,  and 
gain  nothing,  by  betraying  your  secret.  However  foolish 
and  unjustifiable  I  may  think  your  course,  still,  so  long 
as  you  choose  to  pursue  it,  I  have  an  advantage  over  you, 
which  I  should  indeed  be  a  fool  to  throw  away  for  the 
sake  of  any  pitiful  spite  against  that  girl.  Don't  you 
every  day  acknowledge  this  power  ?  Has  it  not  led  you 
to  grant  me  that  which  you  bad  sworn  sliould  never  be?" 

"  It  is  true,"  he  said,  with  a  change  of  manner,  too 
much  occupied  with  lii.-;  own  thoughts  to  notice  the  tri- 
umphant tone  in  which  her  words  ended.  Then  seeming 
for  the  first  time  to  recollect  the  presence  of  the  servant, 
he  picked  up  the  letter,  which  had  fallen  on  the  floor,  and 
abruptly  left  the  room. 

As  he  disappeared,  the  whole  expression  of  Clara's  face 
altered.  She  raised  her  clinched  fist,  and  shook  it  after 
him,  exclaiming  aloud,  "  Fool !  fool !  I  have  outwitted 
you,"  and  then  broke  into  a  long,  mocking  laugh. 

Colonel  Bell  entered  his  library,  and,  locking  the  doors, 
paced  the  floor  with  hurried  step  and  scowling  brow. 
His  passions,  always  violent  and  ungovernable,  now  hur- 
ried him  on  headlong  ;  a  fierce  light  glowed  upon  his  face 
like  the  lurid  glare  of  the  pit.     His  brain  reeled  with  the 


244  CASTE. 

excitement,  and  liis  nerves  were  alternately  rigid  and  pow- 
erless, witli  the  desperation  of  his  soul. 

Again  and  again  he  read  the  letter.  It  was  very  short 
and  simple,  stating  nothing  of  how  the  report  had  reached 
Mr.  Warner,  but  mentioning  it  in  brief  terms,  and  calling 
upon  hini  by  the  honor  of  a  gentleman  to  appear  and 
refute  or  confirm  the  story.  His  position  Avas  indeed 
tiying.  All  that  Avas  good  or  evil  in  his  nature  combined 
together  to  urge  him  to  denial  and  concealment.  The 
undying  love  of  his  youth  prompted  him  to  brave  all 
things  to  save  Gorilla's  child  from  suffering  and  shame. 
His  pride  and  obstinacy  of  character  forbade  him  to  yield 
his  own  wishes  to  the  force  of  circumstances,  to  subject 
himself  to  the  gossip  and  blame  of  his  neighbors,  or, 
more  than  all,  to  allow  his  wife  a  triumph  so  complete. 
And  if  he  acknowledged  the  truth,  Avhat  would  be  the  con- 
sequence ?  Would  he  not  be  indignantly  censured  for 
allowing  Helen  to  be  considered  as  a  white  person,  and 
to  mingle  in  society  as  an  equal  ?  He  knew  the  feelings 
of  his  acquaintances  on  this  subject.  To  be  the  father  of 
colored  children  was  not  esteemed  dishonorable ;  but  to 
recognize  the  paternal  relation,  and  fulfil  paternal  duties, 
was  to  brand  one's  self  with  everlasting  disgrace.  And 
pursuing  this  thought  farther,  how  could  he  ever  meet 
the  torrent  of  indignation  which  would  be  poured  forth, 
if  the  truth  were  now  concealed,  and  Hubert  Warner 
should  be  allowed  to  marry  Helen,  and  afterwards  dis- 
cover that  he  had  been  deceived  ? 


BALAXCIXG.  245 

He  skrank  from  even  the  imagination  of  the  disgrace 
Buch  a  combination  of  circumstances  "would  throw  upon 
him  ;  for  the  selfishness  of  a  whole  lifetime  was  not  to  be 
braved  and  set  aside  in  a  moment,  and  every  man  feels 
most  keenly  that  which  in  the  opinion  of  his  fellows  most 
affects  his  reputation.  He  began  to  ask  himself  what  it 
would  avail  to  continue  a  struggle  by  which  he  would 
only  involve  himself  more  and  more.  Now  he  could 
explain  and  apologise ;  but  if  he  once  denied,  upon  his 
honor,  the  truth  of  the  rumor,  he  would  be  committed  to 
a  course  from  which  he  might  at  any  time  be  driven,  with 
unutterable  dishonor,  by  the  malice  or  the  revenge  of 
Robert  Bernard.  If  he  could  only  have  believed  that 
man  dead,  he  might  perhaps  have  stifled  his  innate  repug- 
nance to  the  deliberate  falsehood  he  was  so  strongly 
tempted  to  speak.  But  people  do  not  often  die  so  oppor- 
tunely, and  he  could  risk  nothing  on  that  hope. 

Reluctantly  he  resolved  to  confess  all ;  and  then,  in  the 
midst  of  a  terrible  vision  of  Helen's  dismay  and  grief, 
came  a  sudden  thought  which  cast  a  gleam  of  mournful 
pleasure  across  the  anguish  of  his  heart.  If  she  were 
conscious  of  her  birth,  if  she  were  deserted  by  all  former 
friends,  to  whom  could  she  cling  for  protection,  to  whom 
could  she  look  for  comfort,  but  to  him  ?  He  stopped  short 
in  his  hurried  walk,  and  stretched  out  his  arms  as  if 
towards  her.  "  If  that  could  be,"  he  said,  in  a  low,'  fer- 
vent tone,  "  there  would  be  yet  one  drop  of  comfort  in 
21  '^' 


246  CASTE. 

tHs  bitter  draught.  "We  would  go  together  to  some  for- 
eign land,  and  there  she  would  grow  content,  and  learn  to 
think  of  me  as  a  father ;  and  0,  to  have  Coiilla's  child 
lean  her  head  upon  my  breast,  and  look  up  to  me  with 
her  mother's  eyes  of  love  !  what  happiness  !  what  blessed 

joy!" 


Mrs.  Warner  had  suggested  that  it  would  be  best  to 
receive  Colonel  Bell  in  the  office,  as  they  would  there  be 
less  liable  to  interruption,  or  to  be  overheard  by  the  ser- 
vants ;  and  it  was  important  that  if  their  fears  were  con- 
firmed they  shovdd  have  time  to  consult  together,  before 
informing  any  other  member  of  the  family  of  the  pain- 
ful facts. 

Accordingly,  when  Colonel  Bell  appeared  the  next 
morning  at  the  door,  the  servant,  in  obedience  to  previous 
directions,  guided  him  to  the  place  where  they  awaited 
him.  It  v,-as  a  small  bxiilding,  at  some  distance  from  the 
house,  containing  one  room  of  considerable  size,  where  the 
business  of  the  plantation  vvas  transacted.  To  reach  it 
the  colonel  crossed  the  garden,  and  went  into  an  enclosure 
planted  with  fruit  trees  of  various  lands,  and  some  grape 
vines,  which  were  trained  beside  the  high  fence,  across 
a  lattice  work.  At  the  farther  end  of  the  enclosure 
stood  the  place  he  sought.  He  found  Mrs.  Warner  with 
a  pale,  agitated  face,  which  bore  the  traces  of  tears,  and 
her  husband  at  his  desk  nervously  cutting  slips  of  paper 


A     CATEGORICAL     ANSWER.  247 

with  his  penknife,  and  pretending  to  be  writing,  when  in 
reality  he  was  looking  through  the  open  door  for  the  ap- 
proach of  the  dreaded  guest. 

An  embarrassed  salutation  passed  between  thenr,  Awhile 
the  servant  placed  a  chair  and  withdrew.  Then,  closing 
the  door,  Mr.  AVarner  said,  hesitatingly,  — 

"  You  will  understand,  sir,  how  painful  a  situation  this 
is,  in  which  we  now  find  ourselves.  Excuse  my  sending 
for  you,  but  you  see  it  is  necessary  for  us  to  know " 

"  I  will  spare  you  further  explanation,"  interrupted 
Colonel  Bell,  looking  deathly  pale,  and  speaking  with 
great  difficulty ;  "  I  will  confess  the  truth  to  you.  The 
story  you  have  heard  is  true." 

"  And  you  have  known  it  all  the  time  ?  "  they  both  ex- 
claimed, at  the  same  moment. 

"  That  Helen  was  my  daughter  r  Yes,  since  last 
spring  I  have  known  it." 

"  O,  poor,  poor  Helen,  Avhat  will  become  of  her  !  And 
to  tliink  how  we  have  been  introducing  her  every  where 
into  society,  and  been  so  fond  of  her  !  What  will  the 
neighbors  think  of  us  ? "  and  Mrs.  Warner  burst  into 
tears  of  mingled  grief  and  mortification. 

"  Then  I  must  say,  sir,  that  you  have  treated  us  very 
uuhaudsomely,  and  are  very  much  to  blame,"  Mr.  Warner 
said,  warmly. 

Colonel  Bell  looked  from  one  to  the  other  with  an  air 
of  sullen  gloom,  and  replied,  — 

"  Allow  me  to  explain  to  you  the  peculiar  circumstances 


248 


Avhich  have  led  to  these  results,  and  then  perhaps  you  vnW 
not  regard  me  as  an  unpardonable  impostor.  It  is  not  a 
very  l(Ag»  story,  and  will  not  tax  your  patience  too  se- 
verely." He  paused,  and  for  a  few  moments  seemed  lost 
in  thought,  from  which  he  was  aroused  by  Mr.  "Warner's 
rather  impatient  "  Well,  sir  !  " 

"  Excuse  me  ;  I  was  thinking  where  I  should  begin  my 
tale." 

"  Begin  at  the  beginning,  sir,  and  tell  the  whole,  sir," 
said  Mr.  Warner,  in  a  tone  of  asperity. 

A  momentary  flash  of  anger  shot  from  his  eyes  ;  but  it 
passed  away,  and  he  proceeded  in  a  low,  calm  voice. 

'•  When  I  returned  from  college  to  my  father's  house, 
I  found  a  young  girl,  whose  peculiar  and  wonderful  beauty 
at  once  attracted  my  attention.  She,  A\-ith  her  mother, 
had  been  purchased  during  my  absence.  I  think,  though 
the  mother  looked  like  a  full  quadroon,  there  must  have 
been  Indian  blood  in  her  veins  ;  for  the  child  had  the  clear 
dark  complexion,  the  fine  soft  .hair,  and  the  Spanish  style 
of  beauty,  which  the  union  of  these  two  races  often  pro- 
duces. The  same  type  of  fa-ce,  still  further  Anglicized, 
appears  in  Helen,  whose  fatal  resemblance  to  her  mother 
has  been  the  cause  of  this  sad  discovery." 

"I  beg  you  to  understand,  sir,"  interrupted  Mr.  War- 
ner, "  that  we  do  not  regret  a  discovery  which  has  saved 
our  family  from  an  intolerable  disgrace.  It  is  painful,  sir, 
but  the  regret  is,  that  we  did  not  know  it  sooner." 


HAGAR     AS     A     MAIDEN.  249 

"  Perhaps  you  don't  regret  it,"  retorted  Colonel  Bell, 
"  but  I  do  ;  I  loved  Gorilla  —  I  love  her  child  —  I  meant 
she  should  never  suffer  for  the  shame  of  her  birth." 

"  You  did  very  -WTong,  sir,  very  wrong.  Your  affection 
for  such  a  child  should  not  have  made  you  forget  the 
claims  that  others  had  upon  you,  sir." 

"Hush,  father!  don't  interrupt  him,"  said  Mrs.  War- 
ner, in  a  fidgety,  anxious  manner.  "  I  am  afraid  some- 
body may  come  to  interrupt  us  before  he  gets  through 
■with  the  story.  I  remember.  Colonel  Bell,  hearing  a 
great  deal  about  that  affair  of  yours  in  the  time  of  it, 
and  I  must  say  it  was  very  little  to  yovir  credit." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  he  answered,  dryly.  "  I  confess  that,  at 
the  time,  I  thought  my  love  for  Corilla,  and  the  care  and 
tenderness  with  which  I  treated  her,  almost  the  only  pure 
thing  in  my  life.  Certain  it  is,  I  have  never  lived  five 
years  in  which  I  can  remember  so  much  happiness.  But 
I  must  not  forestall  my  story.  I  told  you  how  I  found 
her.  We  were  of  course  \crj  much  in  each  other's  soci- 
ety, for  she  was  my  mother's  favorite  attendant ;  and  I  will 
swear  to  you  that,  young  libertine  as  I  was  then,  the 
purity  and  modest  dignity  of  that  young  girl  won  from 
me  a  respect  which  made  me  blush  for  an  unholy  thought 
in  her  presence.  One  day,  on  entering  my  mother's  sit- 
ting room,  I  found  Corilla  reading  aloud.  This  was  a 
great  surprise,  and  in  reply  to  my  remark  upon  it,  I 
learned  that  she  had  been  carefully  raised  by  her  late  mis- 
tress ;  and  having  nahirally  nnconimon  capacity  for  learn- 


250  CASTE. 

ing,  she  had  eagerly  improved  every  means  of  instruction, 
and  was  really  as  well  informed  as  half  the  young  ladies 
one  meets.  Of  course  her  reading  had  been  desultory, 
and  her  mind  was  undisciplined,  for  she  had  chiefly 
read  such  books  as  an  invalid  mistress  Avished  to  hear. 
But  I  never  saw  any  thing  like  the  child's  thirst  for  knowl- 
edge, and  I  never  took  such  delight  in  any  thing  as  in 
reading  to  her  and  my  mother,  and  hearing  the  remarks 
she  sometimes  ventured  to  make  in  a  moment  of  forget- 
fulness.  She  was  never  forward  or  obtrusive  ;  but  seated 
%vith  her  work  at  my  mother's  feet,  I  have  watched  her 
face  change  with  succeeding  emotions,  and  her  large  black 
eyes  raised  suddenly  with  such  a  flash  of  intelligence  as 
almost  startled  me." 

"  I  wonder  your  mother  allowed  you  there  so  much," 
said  Mrs.  Warner. 

"  She  seemed  at  last  to  awake  to  the  conviction  that  I 
was  becoming  very  fond  of  reading  to  her,  and  of  staying 
in  doors  ;  or,  rather,  my  father  did  ;  for  one  day  I  heard 
him  say,  it  appeared  to  him  I  staid  in  her  room  too  much, 
and  asked  if  it  would  not  be  well  to  send  Gorilla  away  when 
I  was  there ;  but  she  answered,  '  Pooh  !  there  is  no  dan- 
ger. I  like  to  have  him  read  to  me  ;  and  as  to  Gorilla, 
I  would  trust  her  virtue  as  quick  as  I  would  my  own.' 
They  did  not  seem  to  think  for  a  moment  that  her  very 
virtue  and  delicacy  was  what  refined  and  fixed  my  boy- 
ish passion. 

"  However,    for  a   few  days  she    heeded   my   father's 


HAGAR     BELOVED.  251 

ad^■ice,  and  Gorilla  was  banished  from  any  room  where 
I  chanced  to  be.  But  then  her  mother,  to  whom  she 
was  much  attached,  died,  after  a  short  illness  ;  and  in  her 
overwhelming  grief  my  kind  mother  could  no  longer 
refuse  her  the  occupation  and  amusement  which  alone  had 
any  power  to  comfort  her  for  her  loss.  She  was  admitted 
again  to  oui'  morning  readings  ;  and  then  I  grew  bolder, 
and  pretended  to  have  weak  eyes,  that  I  might  get  her 
allowed  to  read  in  my  presence.  What  a  pleasure  it  was 
to  me  to  hear  her  low  musical  voice,  and  see  how  quickly 
she  caught  the  inspiration  of  the  page  over  which  she  bent ! 
Then  I  pretended  to  criticize  her  reading,  and  make  her 
repeat  certain  passages  again  and  again,  that  I  might  force 
her  to  look  at  me  and  talk  to  me,  and  thus  put  myself  into 
communication  ^ith  her ;  for  all  this  time,  such  was  her 
innate  delicacy,  and  her  obedience  to  w'hat  she  afterwards 
told  me  were  her  mother's  instructions,  that  she  would 
hardly  ever  remain  with  me  a  moment,  or  look  at  me, 
except  in  my  mother's  presence.  The  chamber  of  my 
mother  was  her  inviolable  sanctuary.  My  father,  coming 
in  one  day,  found  me  thus  teaching  her  to  read  some  pas- 
sages from  Shakspeare,  and  put  a  stop  to  the  business 
by  sending  her  abruptly  out  of  the  room.  Nothing  was 
said  to  me;  but  the  next  week  I  was  sent  away  from 
home,  and  on  various  pretexts  of  business  or  pleasure 
kept  away  three  months." 

He  paused  and  added,  bitterly,  "It  had  been  well  if 


252 


I  had  never  returned  —  if  the  death  whicli  made  me  an 
orijhan  had  taken  me  instead.  In  an  imprudent  summer 
journey  to  Charleston,  my  father  took  the  fever,  and  died. 
I  heard  of  his  death,  and  came  home  in  time  to  close  my 
mother's  eyes,  and  hear  her  farewell  words.  She  had 
been  long  an  invalid,  and  grief  killed  her. 

"  My  sister  returned  to  her  home  in  New  Orleans, 
from  whence  she  had  come  to  the  funeral,  and  left  me 
alone  in  the  desolated  house.  It  was  necessary  I  should 
remain  there,  for  their  sudden  deaths  had  left  all  business 
unfinished,  and  there  was  much  which  claimed  my  atten- 
tion. Gorilla  was  there,  shy,  modest,  and  pure  as  ever, 
but  grieving  deeply  for  the  death  of  her  beloved  and 
kind  mistress,  and  sympathizing  so  deeply  with  my  trouble 
that  all  barriers  of  reserve  were  soon  broken  down. 

"  What  could  be  expected  of  two  young  creatures 
brought  together  under  such  circumstances  ?  We  loved 
each  other  deeply,  wildly  ;  but  we  could  not  marry,  for 
she  was  the  child  of  a  slave.  O,  sir,  I  ask  you,  I  ask 
you,  madam,  were  we,  was  she,  to  be  blamed  for  what  fol- 
lowed ?  If  there  was  any  fault,  it  attached  to  me  ;  for 
when  she  had  once  acknowledged  her  love,  she  had  no 
longer  power  or  will  of  her  own.  I  believe  sh&  adored 
the  ground  I  walked  on.  She  looked  up  to  me  with  a 
humble  reverence  that  was  bewitching,  and  esteemed  my 
college  smattering  of  Greek  and  Latin  the  height  of  all 
human  knowledge.     I  taught  her  to  play  the  guitar,  and 


THE     WIFE     AND     THE     MISTRESS.  253 

to  sketch,  for  which  she  really  had  great  talent.  Ah, 
those  were  happy  days." 

"  But  for  all  that,  sir,  you  were  very  much  to  blame," 
said  Mr.  Warner,  impatiently.  "  Please  proceed  to  the 
facts  of  the  case,"  he  added,  with  an  emphasis  that  showed 
he  had  little  patience  for  the  indulgence  of  sentiment. 

"  I  Mill  hasten,"  said  Colonel  Bell.  "  I  have  lingered, 
because  I  dislike  to  come  to  that  part  of  my  life  of  which 
I  am  ashamed." 

"  Pray,  sir,  and  are  you  not  ashamed  of  that  part  of 
which  you  have  told  us  ?  "  interrupted  Mr.  Warner. 

"  No,  sir,  I  am  not,"  said  Colonel  Bell,  looking  up 
boldly.  "  My  love  for  Gorilla  was  the  only  pure  affection 
of  my  life  ;  and  if  sin  or  shame  resulted  from  it,  the  blame 
rests  with  the  laws  of  society,  which  drove  us  into  a  false 
position.     I  would  gladly  have  married  her  if  I  could." 

"  But  you  had  a  wife  at  the  very  time,"  said  Mrs.  War- 
ner, indignantly. 

"  Not  then,  but  afterwards.  I  confess  my  marriage 
was  wrong,  and  I  have  always  wondered  how  I  allowed 
myself  to  consent  to  it.  It  was  one  of  those  things  men 
sometimes  do  by  the  suggestion  and  help  of  others,  with- 
out realizing  what  they  are  about,  until  it  is  too  late.  !My 
father  had  proposed  the  alliance  before  his  death,  and  my 
sister  insisted  that  I  should  fulfil  the  engagement  he  had 
made  for  me.  I  gave  the  matter  little  thought,  taking  it 
for  granted  I  must  marry,  and  thinking  the  lady  proposed 

would  do  as  well  as  any  one. 
.22  ■ 


254  CASTE. 

"  The  bride  was  willing,  the  preliminaries  were  all  ar- 
ranged by  my  sister,  and  I  was  sent  for  to  go  and  act  as 
bridegroom.  Then  first  I  told  Gorilla  of  my  intentions, 
and  asked  her  to  remove  to  a  small  cottage  I  had  fitted 
up  for  her  on  a  distant  part  of  my  estate.  She,  poor 
thing,  was  dreadfully  shocked." 

"The  impudent  — "  began  Mrs.  Warner ;  but  a  fiery 
glance  from  his  eyes  checked  her,  and  she  added,  in  a 
milder  tone,  "  I  must  scold  a  little,  for  it  provokes  me  to 
see  how  completely  that  girl  deceived  you." 

"  You  mistake ;  it  was  I  who  deceived  her.  In  the 
innocent  simplicity  of  her  heart  she  had  believed  my  vows 
of  eternal  constancy  meant  what  they  said,  and  that  I 
considered  her  as  holding  the  relation  of  a  wife. 

"  No  doubt  it  should  have  been  thus,  but  few  men  are 
wiser  than  their  generation ;  and  though  I  loved  her,  re- 
spected her,  —  ay,  as  I  have  respected  few  women  since,  — 
I  had  never  viewed  our  relation  as  she  had  done.  When 
she  found  herself  degraded  from  the  position  of  wife  to 
that  of  mistress,  a  great  change  came  over  her,  and  she 
was  never  after  happy  as  she  had  been. 

"  She  submitted  to  my  Avish,  and  removed  to  the  cot- 
tage. I  shall  never  forget  her  looks  when  she  first 
stepped  in  the  door,  and  saw  the  fanciful  elegance  with 
which  I  had  furnished  her  apartments.  Her  eyes  were 
very  expressive  ;  she  could  throw  all  her  soul  out  through 
them  at  times ;  and  she  gave  me  then  one  quick  glance  of 
gratitude  and  pleasxire,  and  with  a  grace  all  her  own  she 


HAGAR    EXILED.  255 

took  my  hand  aud  kissed  it.  Then  she  clasped  her 
child,  little  Helen,  to  her  bosom,  and  sinking  on  the  floor 
at  my  feet,  and  leaning  her  head  against  my  knee,  burst 
into  tears. 

"  I  understood  the  gesture,  and  no  words  could  have 
so  moved  me  as  did  those  silent  tears.  But  she  never 
reproached  me,  or  complained.  She  was  humble  and 
grateful,  and  after  a  little  while  she  strove  to  be  cheerful 
when  in  my  presence,  and  we  returned  to  our  old  pursuits 
and  enjoyments  ;  but  I  .could  see  there  was  a  weight  upon 
her  spirits,  and  I  have  since  been  told  by  her  servants, 
that  in  my  absence  she  spent  whole  days  in  tears. 

"  We  had  then  two  children,  Helen  and  Charles,  and 
their  prattle  amused  her,  and  the  care  of  them  occupied 
her ;  but  they  were  nevertheless  a  source  of  great  anxiety. 
As  her  maternal  feelings  developed,  she  grew  thoughtful 
and  careful  for  the  future,  and  sometimes  even  proposed 
that  I  should  give  them  all  free  papers,  and  send  them 
away ;  for  she  feared  something  unforeseen  might  expose 
them  to  a  life  of  ignorance  and  ser\itude  ;  and  I  grew 
half  jealous  of  the  children,  who  seemed  to  divide  her 
care  and  love  for  me. 

"  Men  are  selfish  wretches,  and  I  was  no  better  than 
my  kind.  I  meant  to  do  right  by  them  all,  but  I  never 
aroused  to  the  necessity  for  placing  her  wholly  at  ease, 
until  she  had  gone  to  the  world  where  anxieties  cease. 
When  Helen  was  four  years  old,  and  Charles  was  two, 
their  mother  died  suddenly,  —  died  in  agony  ;  the  cholera 


256  CASTE. 

penetrated  even  to  the  home  Avhere  I  had  hidden  her : 
there  Avas  no  time  for  farewells." 

His  voice  had  been  growing  weak  and  husky  for  the 
last  fe^v  sentences,  and  now  it  became  inaudible ;  and 
after  a  momentary  struggle,  he  yielded  to  the  keen  feel- 
ings his  story  had  recalled,  and  they  saw  tears  dropping 
from  beneath  the  hand  with  which  his  eyes  were  shaded. 
In  spite  of  their  prejudices,  his  hearers,  too,  were  affected, 
and  for  a  short  time  there  was  entire  silence. 

Colonel  Bell  recovered  himseK  with  an  effort,  and  look- 
ing up  again,  said,  sadly,  "  There  is  little  more  to  tell,  for 
I  will  not  trouble  you  with  my  grief  or  my  remorse.  I 
determined  to  revenge  upon  myself  the  negligence  which 
had  caused  her  pain,  by  separating  myself  from  the  chil- 
dren of  my  love,  and  to  satisfy  the  spirit  of  the  dead  by 
placing  them  in  a  position  that  suited  their  father's  race. 
I  had  them  conveyed  away,  and  persuaded  the  few  Avho 
knew  of  their  existence  to  believe  they  were  dead.  Then 
I  carried  them  to  New  York,  made  inquiries  which  in- 
formed me  where  they  would  be  well  treated,  and  left 
them  there.  I  managed  to  convey  a  yearly  remittance  for 
their  education,  until  they  had  arrived  at  the  age  when  I 
thought  they  Avould  be  likely  to  make  some  attempt  to 
discover  where  the  money  came  from,  and  then  I  sent  a 
certain  sum,  with  a  letter,  stating  that  no  more  would  be 
remitted.  I  thought  it  better  for  them  to  depend  upon 
themselves  for  a  livelilaood,  rather  than  to  run  any  risk 


A    father's    cake.  257 

of  learning  the  secret  of  their  birth ;  and  I  intended  to 
watch  over  and  help  them,  when  it  seemed  necessary. 

"  During  all  these  years  I  had  not  seen  them  ;  most  of 
the  time  I  had  been  abroad ;  but  then  I  left  directions 
with  my  banker  to  transmit  the  money,  though  he  knew 
not  to  whom  it  was  sent,  or  why  it  was  sent  so  privately. 

"  After  my  last  return  from  Europe,  I  went  to  the  place 
where  I  left  them,  but  found  the  school  broken  up,  and 
the  person  who  had  charge  of  them  removed.  I  dared 
not  make  much  inquiry,  lest  I  should  excite  curiosity,  and 
therefore  was  unable  to  get  such  clew  to  their  location  as 
would  enabje  me  to  find  them,  and  knoAv  nothing  of  their 
situation  until  I  met  Helen  on  the  boat  last  spring.  I 
knew  her  in  a  moment,  from  her  likeness  to  her  mother 
—  the  beautiful,  the  noble  girl.  Can  you  wonder  that  I 
shrank  from  turning  the  morning  of  her  life  into  midnight 
gloom? — that  I  could  not  inform  either  her  or  you  of 
the  fatal  truth  which  would  curse  her  days " 

At  this  moment  they  were  startled  by  a  noise  outside 
the  window,  and  immediately  Hubert's  voice  called  loudly 
for  help. 

22* 


CHAPTER    FOURTEENTH. 

"0,  agony!  fierce  agony, 

For  loving  heart  to  brook 
For  one  brief  hour  the  withering  power 

Of  unimpassioned  look, 
0,  agony !  sharp  agony, 

For  heart  that's  proud  and  high, 
To  learn  of  fate  how  desolate 

It  may  be  ere  it  die." 

Some  time  after  Colonel  Bell  entered  Mr.  Warner's 
office,  Hubert  and  Helen  were  returning  from  a  morning 
ramble  through  the  woods.  Notwithstanding  her  joy  at 
his  return,  and  his  efforts  to  cheer  her,  she  had  passed  a 
sad  and  sleepless  night,  and  descended  to  the  breakfast 
table,  looking  so  low  spirited  and  pale,  that  he  had  insisted 
she  should  go  out  into  the  open  air,  and  let  the  sunshine 
dissipate  her  A^apors. 

His  medicine  had  been  so  far  successful  that  she  en- 
joyed her  walk,  and  Avas  returning  in  a  much  more  cheer- 
ful mood.  As  they  came  along  the  path  beside  the  high 
fence  which  had  been  built  to  keep  thieves  from  the  fruit 
garden,  Hubert,  looking  up,  saw  some  fig  branches  hang- 
ing down  from  the  top  of  the  wall,  and  made  an  effort  to 
reach  the  fruit.  They  proved  to  be  half  ripe,  and  throw- 
ing them  away,  he  said,  — 

i258) 


MORE     THAN     WAS     SOUGHT     FOR.  259 

"  Let  us  go  in  at  the  gate,  and  get  some  from  the  other 
side.  I  used  to  like  the  figs  that  grew  on  this  south  wall 
better  than  any  I  ever  ate,  and  we  will  see  if  they  still 
retain  their  flavor." 

Accordingly,  when  they  reached  the  little  gate  near  the 
office,  Hubert  opened  it,  and  went  in,  while  Helen  stood 
in  the  gateway,  waiting  for  him.  As  she  waited,  she 
spied  some  very  fine  ones  growing  against  the  side  of  the 
office  building,  and  seeing  that  Hubejt  was  having  poor 
success  in  his  search,  she  went  to  gather  these  herself. 
They  were  a  little  above  her  reach,  and  stepping  on  the 
crotch  of  the  vine-like  tree,  she  clung  to  the  tough  branch, 
and,  reaching  up,  was  about  to  grasp  them,  Avheil  her 
attention  was  arrested  by  a  voice  within  the  window  near 
which  her  ear  was  brought  by  this  sideway  position.  She 
listened  an  instant  thoughtlessly,  as  one  might  do  to  rec- 
ognize the  voice,  and  then  she  heard  her  own  name,  and 

then By  degrees  her  hands   grew  rigid,  her  limbs 

grew  cold,  and  like  one  petrified  she  remained  clinging  to 
the  branches. 

Hubert,  having  secured  his  prize,  came  near,  and,  seeing 
her  strange  posture,  said  gayly,  with  slight  surprise  in  his 
tone,  "What  are  you  doing,  Helen,  —  listening?  Don't 
you  know  listeners  hear  no  good  to  themselves  ?  " 

But  she  turned  towards  him  a  face  so  ashen  white,  so 
sharpened  and  changed  by  sudden  agony,  that  he  uttered 
an  exclamation  of  fear.  She  held  up  her  hand  as  a  signal 
for  silence,  and  for  a  few  moments  he  waited  impatiently, 


260 


witli  occasional  questions,  in  a  low  voice,  to  which,  she  re- 
turned no  answer,  and  seemed  not  to  notice.  The  shut- 
ters Avere  closed,  and  as  he  stood  on  the  ground,  he  could 
hear  nothing  but  a  low  murmur,  or  now  and  then  an  in- 
distinct word ;  but  she  heard  all  the  last  part  of  Colonel 
Bell's  sad  story  —  heard  it  with  a  quick  chill  of  appre- 
hension, and  a  conviction  of  evil  that  left  no  room  for 
doubt  or  question. 

"  What  is  it,  Helpn  r  You  frighten  me.  Come  down," 
Hubert  said,  at  length,  peremptorily,  pulling  at  her  dress. 
She  yielded,  and  fell  into  his  arms  rigid  and  pale  as  a 
corpse.  Her  eyes  were  open,  and  her  breath  came  with 
faint  gasps.  He  spoke  to  her  in  teiTor,  and  pressed  her 
to  his  heart.  Then  consciousness  returned.  She  strug- 
gled feebly  to  release  herself,  threw  up  her  arms  with  an 
hysterical  sob,  and  fainted  entirely  away. 

Hubert's  loud  cry  for  help  brought  them  all  to  the  door. 
When  she  saw  Helen's  position,  Mrs.  Warner  uttered  a 
groan. 

"  O,  dear  !  "  she  said  to  her  husband,  "  I  always  heard 
that  living  trouble  was  worse  than  dead  trouble,  and  1 
begin  to  believe  it.  That  poor  girl  has  overheard  us. 
What  in  the  world  shall  we  do  with  her  ? '" 

Colonel  Bell  had  sprung  forward  to  assist  Hubert,  Avho, 
when  the  door  was  opened,  carried  Helen  into  the  office, 
and  laid  her  on  the  sofa  there ;  and  now  his  mother 
joined  him.  They  were  so  much  alarmed  at  her  death- 
like aspect,  that  for  a  few  moments  not  a  word  was  spoken, 


THE     LOVER     EOYAL.  261 

or  a  question  asked,  as  they  bathed  her  face  and  hands 
'R'ith  water,  and  strove  to  recall  the  life  which  fluttered  so 
faintly,  and  seemed  about  to  expire. 

But  at  length  she  opened  her  eyes,  and  Mrs.  Warner, 
seeing  she  was  out  of  danger,  bade  them  go  away  and 
leave  her  ;  for  she  dreaded  the  result  of  excitement  in  the 
first  moments  of  consciousness.  Then  Hubert  recollected 
the  mystery  which  attended  this  sudden  illness,  and  turn- 
ing to  his  father,  said,  "  "What  is  it  ?  What  did  she  over- 
hear ?     What  could  you  say  to  affect  her  thus  r  " 

Mr.  Warner  drew  him  to  the  farther  side  of  the  room, 
and  whispered  in  low,  reluctant  tones,  — 

"  You  must  calm  yourself,  my  son.  We  have  learned 
something  from  Colonel  Bell  which  pains  us  exceedingly, 
and  vrill  make  you  feel  even  worse  than  we  do.  Your 
plans  are  most  sadly  broken  up.  You  camiot  marry 
Helen." 

"Why  not,  pray  ?  What  do  you  mean?  "  interrupted 
he,  impatiently. 

"  Because,  my  poor  boy,  she  is  of  negro  descent ;  she 
is  the  child  of  a  slave." 

"  It's  a  lie  !  "  exclaimed  Hubert.  "  Show  me  the  man 
who  dares  say  so.  "What,  Helen !  my  Helen  !  Impossi- 
ble !     It  is  a  base  lie." 

"  Be  calm,  my  son,"  repeated  Mr.  Warner,  himself 
trembling  all  over  with  excitement.  "It us  a  dreadful 
tiling,  I  know,  but  I  fear  it  is  true." 


262 


"  I  tell  you  it  is  a  lie  ;  I  will  never  believe  it.  Who 
has  so  imposed  upon  you  ?     Is  it  Colonel  Bell  ?" 

"  Colonel  Bell  has  acknowledged  reluctantly  what  I 
had  heard  before  from  other  sources.  There  is  no  doubt 
of  it,  my  son ;  you  must  believe  it." 

"  Believe  it !  never  !  Colonel  Bell,  what  do  you  mean 
by  daring  to  say  such  a  thing  ?"  Hubert  said,  turning 
fiercely  to  the  unhappy  man,  who  stood  at  a  little  dis- 
tance, with  eyes  fixed  on  Helen,  and  a  face  scarcely  less 
pale  and  distressed  than  her  own.  At  another  time,  he 
would  have  resented  the  tone  of  this  question ;  but  now 
his  spirit  seemed  broken,  and  he  replied,  humbly,  — 

"  I  have  only  told  the  truth.  I  cannot  repeat  the 
story ;  but  your  father  will  tell  all.  She  is  my  child  — 
my  unfortunate  child." 

"  You  lie,  sir  !  "  cried  Hubert,  almost  distracted.  "  Do 
you  realize  what  is  involved  in  this  slander  ?  I  tell  you 
it  is  false." 

Even  this  did  not  rouse  Colonel  Bell.  He  only  an- 
swered in  the  same  sad  tone,  "  Alas  !  it  is  too  true.  Why 
should  I  say  it,  if  it  were  not  ?  Look  at  me.  Do  you 
think  I  suffer  less  than  you  ?  Do  you  think  it  is  nothing 
to  me  to  blast  hopes  that  were  dearer  to  me  than  life  ?  — 
to  ruin  the  happiness  of  my  beloved  daughter  ?  Look  at 
me,  Hubert  Warner,  and  see  if  I  look  like  a  triumphant 
slanderer." 

His  quiet  air,  so  unlike  any  thing  ever  before  known  of 
him,  staggered  Hubert's  obstinate  incredulity  more  than 


FATHER     A  K  I)     CHILD.  263 

thousand  proofs  written  with  pen  of  fire.  He  struck  his 
forehead  and  groaned  in  desperation. 

"Who  calls  mo  daughter,"  said  Helen's  faint  voice; 
and  she  tried  to  raise  herself  and  look  around.  "  Orphan 
so  long,  and  homeless,  who  claims  me  now  ?  who  comes 
to  take  away  my  happiness  ?  " 

These  pitiful  accents  moved  them  all  to  tears.  She 
gazed  from  one  to  the  other  with  a  vague,  hewildered  air  ; 
for  her  recollection  Avas  indistinct,  and  she  was  conscious 
only  of  some  great  and  sudden  sorrow.  But  as  she  read 
their  faces,  and  her  thoughts  grew  clear,  her  voice  took  a 
stronger  tone,  and  a  wild,  fearful  light  came  into  her  eyes. 

"  What  did  I  hear  ?  "  she  exclaimed  ;  "  what  was  it 
Colonel  Bell  was  sajing  ?  tell  me.  I  heard  part ;  what  is 
it  ? "  Her  face  pleaded  even  more  touchingly  than  her 
words  ;  but  none  answered  her.  Who  could  be  the  first 
to  tell  such  news  ?  At  that  moment  Mr.  and  Mrs.  War- 
ner could  forgive  Colonel  Bell  for  what  they  had  before 
deemed  his  treacherous  silence. 

He  nerved  himself  at  length  to  the  task,  and  seating 
himself  near,  took  her  hand. 

"  Helen,"  he  said,  "do  not  curse  me.  God  knows  I 
did  not  mean  that  this  should  ever  be.  I  thought  I  could 
save  you  from  sorrow.  But  our  sins  follow  us  forever," 
he  added,  with  a  groan ;  "  even  from,  the  grave  they  rise 
to  pursue  us  relentlessly.  I  wronged  your  mother,  and 
this  is  my  bitter  punishment*' 


264  CASTE. 

"  Who  was  my  motlier  ?  "  Helen  asked,  in  a  hard, 
nervous  tone. 

"  She  was  Corilla." 

"  A  servant !  a  slave  gii'l !  " 

"  Yes  ;  but,  O  Helen,  my  child,  do  not  hate  me,  do  not 
spui'n  me,"  he  added,  beseechingly;  for  she  had  "with- 
drawn her  hand  quickly,  and  a  strange,  defiant,  disdain- 
ful expression  had  settled  upon  her  face.  "All  others 
will  turn  from  you  now  ;  you  have  only  me  ;  do  not  hate 
me  for  this  trouble  that  I  could  not  help." 

"  I  do  hate  you,"  she  exclaimed  ;  "  go  away  !  I  hate 
myself.  What  right  had  you  to  say  I  have  no  friends  — 
that  I  must  be  dependent  upon  you?     I  have  a  brother." 

"  And  you  have  vie  too  ;  I  will  not  give  you  up,  Helen," 
said  Hubert,  who,  after  the  first  shock,  had  been  standing 
in  gloomy  silence  ;  but  now  every  generous  impulse  of 
his  soul  was  roused  to  aid  his  love  for  her.  "  I  will  not 
leave  you,"  he  repeated,  and  took  both  her  hands  in  his. 

She  looked  up  with  a  grateful  smile,  but  when  her  eyes 
fell  again  on  Colonel  Bell,  her  expression  grew  hard  and 
firm. 

He  shook  his  ^cad,  ■\^ith  a  moui-nful  and  incredulous 
aspect,  murmuring,  "  Alas,  poor  child  !  you  cannot  help 
trusting  him,  and  yet  he  will  not  be  above  the  prejudice 
of  his  race.  You  will  only  have  one  more  pang,  in  find- 
ing yourself  deceived." 

"I  am  not  deceived,"  Helen  said,  quickly.  "He  is 
kind  and  generous ;  but  I  know  how  it  must  be.     Yes," 


REPKOACHES.  265 

she  added,  clasping  his  hands  tighter,  while  her  voice 
grew  slightly  tremulous,  "  I  knew  from  the  first  moment 
that  this  would  part  us ;  and  if  I  cling  to  him  now,  it  is 
only  because  I  know  it  is  but  for  a  little  while.  But  you, 
—  do  you  suppose  I  will  turn  to  you  ?  Sooner  would  I 
beg  from  door  to  door.  You  are  the  cause  of  all  my 
misery." 

She  shrank  still  farther  from  him  as  she  spoke ; 
for  in  this  moment  of  tumult  and  anguish  of  heart,  all 
thought  of  the  bitterness  and  shame  of  her  lot  seemed  to 
merge  themselves  in  an  unreasoning  and  revengeful  dis- 
like to  him,  Avho,  in  giving  her  being,  had  forced  upon  her 
so  much  sorrow. 

"  Is  this  all  you  can  say  to  me  ? "  he  answered,  in  a 
stifled  voice  —  "  to  me,  who  have  thought  of  you  so  many 
years  with  such  interest,  and,  since  I  have  known  you, 
wdth  so  much  affection  ?  Do  try  to  forgive  me.  I  did 
not  mean  to  cause  you  sorrow.  O  Helen,  you  are  your 
mother's  image  —  your  mother,  who  loved  me  so  well." 

"  My  mother,  whom  you  wronged  so  deeply  !  "  Helen 
replied,  in  stern  and  cutting  tones  ;  and  Colonel  Bell,  too 
deeply  pained  for  words,  went  out  of  t^e  room  to  hide 
his  emotions. 

Mr.  Waruor  was  about  to  interfere,  and  put  an  end  to 

this  interN-iew,  which  he  had  watched  in  silent  anxiety ; 

but  Hubert  took  the  place  Colonel  Bell  had  vacated,  and 

still  pressing  her  cold,  trembling  hands,  he  said,  earnestly, 

23 


a#6  t  A  S  T  E  . 

«•  Helen,  even  now  I  cannot  believe  this.  There  must  be 
Bome  mistake  :  mistakes  are  easily  made.  Tell  me  what 
you  know  of  your  childhood.  I  have  heard  you  speak  of 
it  as  a  vague  memory  ;  but  can't  you  think  of  something 
wtich  can  refute  this  slander  ?  Do  you  believe  what  this 
man  has  said? " 

'  She  grew  excited  now,  and  tearful ;  but  she  struggled 
to  retain  her  self-possession.  "  I  cannot  deceive  you," 
she  said,  "  you  or  your  dear  mother  and  father,  who  have 
been  so  kind  to  me.  I  know  how  you  will  feel  —  I  know 
what  you  will  think,  but  I  cannot  deceive  you.  There 
have  been  indistinct  recollections  in  my  brain,  on  which 
his  words  have  thrown  a  sudden  light ;  then  his  evident 
interest  in  me  from  the  first— when  we  met  on  the  boat 
—  and  his  agitation.  O  Hubert !  O  Mrs.  Warner  !  If 
it  is  true  what  will  become  of  me  ?  And  Charles !  my 
poor  brother  !     O,  it  is  too  much,  too  much  ! " 

Her  words  were  lost  in  sobs  and  tears  that  soon  became 
convulsive  and  hysterical.  Hubert  was  unwilling  to  leave 
her ;  but  his  father  forced  him  away,  and  his  mother  in- 
sisted that  only  by  being  left  alone  could  Helen  regain 
the  calmness  and  strength  necessary  to  enable  her  to  re- 
turn to  the  house  without  revealing  the  secret,  which 
flhe  was  desirous  of  keeping  from  the  family  as  long  as 
possible. 

They  found  Colonel  Bell  walking  in  the  garden,  just 
before  the  door.  He  had  still  much  to  say,  and  Hubert 
had  many  questions  to  ask.     With  reckless  and  unsparing 


**A     8BA     OP    THOUBLES^"  387 

hand  he  probed  the  old  wound,  inquiring  into  all  the  mi- 
nutice  of  e\'idence,  and  examining  all  the  details  of  that 
sad  story ;  and  in  satisfying  himself  of  Helen's  identity 
with  the  rumor  which  his  father  had  heard,  he  unwit- 
tingly drew  from  Mr.  Warner  the  fact  of  Mrs.  Bell's  com- 
plicity -with  the  affair. 

The  colonel  started  when  he  heard  this,  and  the  sub- 
dued, grief-stricken  expression  of  his  face  became  strangely 
mingled  with  one  harder  and  more  bitter ;  but  he  made  no 
reference  to  what  he  thus  learned.  It  was  long  before 
Hubert  could  yield  to  the  terrible  conviction,  against  which 
he  fought  ^\ith  a  strong  and  wilful  scepticism ;  and  when  at 
length  he  could  not  help  believing,  no  words  can  describo 
the  perplexed  and  angry  feelings  that  mixed  themselves 
with  his  distress. 

Before  Colonel  Bell  lefl  them  he  wished  again  to  see 
Helen ;  but  she  was  \mwilling  to  admit  him,  and  he  was 
obliged  to  be  satisfied  with  leaving  kind  words  for  her 
with  Mrs.  Warner  —  words  from  which  she  turned  indig- 
nantly away.  She  had  waited  impatiently  for  their  long 
talk  to  be  ended.  She  longed  for  the  solitude  of  her 
chamber,  and  she  felt  it  impossible  to  go  through  the  gar- 
den while  they  were  there.  Realizing  every  moment 
more  and  more  of  what  this  dread  discovery  entailed  upon 
her,  she  shrank  from  meeting  any  eye,  from  hearing  any 
voice,  that  could,  by  pity  or  by  wonder,  remind,  her  of  the 
thange  it  made  in  her  condition. 

With  passionate  bursts  of  tears,  and  restless,  impatient 


268  CAR  T  r, . 

motions,  slie  paced  the  Hoor,  now  giving  herself  up  to 
the  full  power  of  her  fears,  ami  now  clinging  to  a  hope, 
which  even  then  *she  felt  was  mockery  —  the  hope  that 
Hubert,  who  would  never  yield  to  less  than  an  entire  cer- 
tainty, might  find  some  escape  from  this  pitiless  doom. 
Poor  girl  I  how  she  watched  him  !  how  she  hung  upon 
his  gestures,  as  standing  beneath  the  trees  he  questioned 
Colonel  Bell  and  his  father  !  and  how  her  heart  thrilled, 
when  once  he  made  a  few  rapid  steps  towards  the  office, 
as  if  coming  to  seek  her. 

At  length  Colonel  Bell  took  from  his  pocket  book  a 
paper,  which  Bernard  had  given  in  exchange  for  the  five 
thousand  dollars  which  had  been  paid  to  secure  his 
silence  ;  worthless  indeed,  except  as  a  most  fearful  proof 
that  another  besides  the  colonel  had  recognized  Helen 
from  her  resemblance  to  her  mother.  Then,  through  the 
office  window,  she  saw  him  take  from  his  vest  pocket  a 
small  case,  which  apparently  contained  a  miniature.  She 
saw  Hubert  take  it,  look  at  it  a  fevf  moments,  and  then 
dash  it  to  the  ground  and  walk  hurriedly  away.  It  was 
Gorilla's  miniature  —  a  last,  convincing  proof,  against  which 
his  whole  soul  rebelled,  even  while  it  sank  confused  and 
overwhelmed. 

Then  her  senses  seemed  to  fail,  and  for  a  moment  all 
things  vanished  from  before  her  eyes,  and  the  sunlight 
was  darkened.  The  last  faint  spark  of  hope  went  out. 
The  curse  of  the  old  law  was  upon  her,  and  the  father's 
sins  must  be  visited  on  the  child. 


TENDRILS     RENT.  269 

Hubert  had  heard  all ;  and  he  was  forsaking  her  ! 

She  had  knoA\Ti  it  must  be  so  —  known  it  dimly  and 
passively,  as  we  think  of  death,  the  common  doom  of  all. 
But  to  have  the  moment  come  so  soon  —  to  see  him  turn 
away  without  a  word  or  look,  smote  her  soul  with  a  keen 
agony  too  mighty  to  be  endured.  She  stretched  out  both 
arms  towards  his  receding  form  with  a  wild,  ringing  cry, 
and  then  sank  down  on  the  sofa,  crouching  together  as  if 
convulsed  with  bodily  pain. 

"  What  is  it  ?  Helen,  poor  child  !  "  said  Mrs.  Warner, 
striving  to  raise  her  bowed  head. 

"He  is  going  —  it  is  true  —  the  story  is  true,  and  he 
is  going  to  leave  me,"  and  she  clasped  Mrs.  Warner's 
hands,  and  looked  up  pitcously. 

It  was  a  very  painful  moment  to  that  lady,  but  she 
thought  it  was  better  that  the  worst  should  be  known  at 
once,  and  so  she  answered  in  a  kind  but  hesitating  tone,  — 

"  You  must  not  wonder  at  it,  Helen.  If  he  believes 
the  stories,  he  must  feel  that  he  cannot  see  you  now. 
Perhaps  it  will  be  better  for  you  both  if  you  never  meet 
again." 

"  Never  meet  again  !  O,  can  you  mean  so  !  "  she  spoke 
slowly,  pleadingly,  and  her  cold  hands  dropped  like  lead 
by  her  side.  If  she  had  rebelled,  if  she  had  been  indig- 
nant, it  would  have  been  easier  to  reason  with  her,  easier 
to  remind  her  of  the  fatal  barrier  which  had  suddenly 
arisen  to  shut  her  out  from  all  she  had  loved  or  hoped 
20  -^ 


27G  -  -  "C  A  s  I  E  . 

for;  but  £o  see  her  tluis  was    heartbreaking;    and  Mrs. 
Warner  wept  as  she  said,  — 

"  Do  not  think  about  lliat  now,  and  do  not  blame  ua, 
Helen.  We  will  try  to  do  right ;  but  it  is  dreadful  for  us 
all,  and  hard  to  know  what  to  do." 

"  I  don't  blame  you,"  Helen  said,  with  something  of 
her  old  manner,  gently  putting  away  Mrs.  Warner's  ca- 
ressing hand.  "  I  hav«  no  complaints  to  make.  I  don't 
wonder  that  you  scorn  me  —  that  you  are  ashamed  of  me. 
I  scorn  and  despise  myself."  She  wrung  her  hands,  and 
added,  passionately,  "  How  can  this  be  1  It  is  too  dread- 
ful !  How  can  I  bear  it !  O,  why  cannot  I  die  !  " 
"  Hush,  Helen,  dear,  hush  !  It  is  wrong  to  talk  so." 
"  Wrong  !  it  is  all  Avrong  !  all  one  piece  of  wickedness  I 
I  the  child  of  shame  !  /  one  of  the  servile  race !  O, 
horrible  !  "  and  shuddering,  she  buried  her  face  in  her 
hands. 

"  Don't  talk  so  ;  don't !  "  said  Mrs.  Warner,  making  a 
faint  attempt  to  comfort  her.  "  It  is  a  shocking  thing  to  us 
all ;  but  then  you  have  many  friends,  who  will  always  be 
interested  in  you,  and  it  might  have  been  a  great  deal 
worse  for  you." 

"  Worse  !  How  ?  O,  I  know  what  you  mean,"  she 
added,  with  a  look  before  which  the  stereotyped  consola- 
tion seemed  to  shrivel  on  the  lips  that  spoke  it,  like  parch- 
ment touched  by  fire.  I  know  what  you  are  thinking  of. 
lam  a  slave !  the  child  of  a  slave  mother.  Why  don't 
they  take  me  to  market  and  sell   me  r     They  sold   my 


SHART     MISEIIT.  271 

motlier,  and  I  am  no  better  than  she  was.  Why  not  treat 
us  all  alike  ? "  And  she  laughed  so  wildly  that  Mrs. 
Warner  feared  she  was  losing  her  reason. 

She  was  indeed  nearly  distracted ;  but  when  she  saw 
the  apprehension  which  her  companion's  face  expressed, 
she  made  a  great  effort  to  be  calm  and  quiet,  and,  in  a 
tone  far  different  from  that  she  had  just  used,  she  begged 
to  be  told  her  mother's  history,  the-  details  of  which  were 
yet  unknown  to  her. 

Mrs.  Warner  complied  briefly,  for  the  subject  was  dis- 
agreeable to  her.  She  was  anxious  to  avoid  wounding 
Helen's  already  lacerated  heart,  but  she  could  not  look 
upon  the  matter  as  Colonel  Bell  had  done ;  she  had  no 
knowledge  of  Gorilla's  refined  and  delicate  nature,  which 
had  redeemed  her  in  the  eyes  of  her  lover  from  the  infamy 
of  her  position,  and  she  could  not  give  the  story  the  col- 
oring he  had  given  it.  The  unhappy  girl  felt  while  she 
listened,  that  notwithstanding  her  pity,  Mrs.  Warner 
looked  upon  her  as  even  then  sharing  some  portion  of  her 
mother's  shame. 

The  garden  was  vacant  at  length,  and  Helen  could 
reach  her  room  unnoticed.  She  was  thankful  to  be  alone, 
and  when  she  had  fastened  the  door,  she  threw  herself 
down  upon  the  carpet,  her  face  buried  in  her  arms ;  and 
making  no  longer  any  effort  at  self-control,  she  lay  moan- 
ing and  writhing,  while  all  the  waves  of  misery  and  de- 
spair swept  over  her.  It  was  not  wholly  for  herself  she 
mourned,  though  the  heavy  grief  which  crushed  her  might 


272 


well  have  made  her  selfish.  From  her  childhood  her 
brother  had  been  her  pride  and  her  idol,  and  his  happi- 
ness her  first  care  ;  and  now  amid  the  horrors  and  dark- 
ness which  surrounded  her,  his  face  came  before  her  men- 
tal vision  like  the  face  of  an  accusing  spirit,  and  again 
she  heard  Julie's  gentle  voice,  iirging  her  to  remain  with 
them.  O,  if  she  had  but  heeded  their  request !  If  she 
had  but  refused  to  return  to  her  southern  home,  perhaps 
this  miserable  truth  might  never  have  been  known,  and 
they  at  least  have  been  happy.  How  should  she  ever 
meet  them  ?  How  could  she  ever  endure  to  tell  the 
secret  of  which  they  were  now  so  unconscious  ? 

Poor  Helen  !  what  years  of  agony  she  lived  in  that  one 
day ;  alternately  calm  and  passive  with  exhaustion,  or 
restless,  half  frantic,  and  raving  wildly  with  passionate 
struggles  and  tears,  she  wore  away  the  long,  long  hours. 
Mrs.  Warner  came  and  went,  urging  food  and  rest ;  but 
such  entreaties  seemed  a  mockery ;  and,  worn  out  at 
length  by  the  contest  between  her  pity  and  prejudice, 
which  ^ed  her  at  one  moment  to  long  to  give  Helen  the 
only  comfort  that  could  be  bestowed,  by  assuring  her  she 
should  be  held  by  them  in  the  same  light  as  before  this 
discovery,  and  the  next  moment  made  her  repel  that 
idea  as  something  impossible,  she  was  almost  glad  when 
at  nightfall  Helen  requested  that  she  might  be  left  alone 
until  morning. 

Hubert  also  had  passed  the  day  alone,  in  a  frame  of 
mind  hardly  more  endurable  than  that  of  his  unfortimaLc 


man's    I.  o  V  e  .  273 

betrotlied.  It  is  rarely  that  a-  man's  love  is  capable  of  the 
geiierosity  and  self-forgetfulness  which  characterize  a  wo- 
man's, even  though  the  emotion  itself  be  as  intense  in 
one  heart  as  in  the  other.  The  idios}'ncrasies  of  different 
characters  of  course  modify  this  distinction  ;  and  there 
are  selfish  and  heartless  women,  as  there  are  men,  who 
have 

"Esteemed  tho  world  well  lost  —  and  all  for  love." 

But  when  a  man  has  lived  thirty-five  years,  as  Hubert 
had,  before  experiencing  a  sincere  passion,  he  is  perhaps 
less  likely  to  be  carried  away  by  enthiisiasm,  and  careless 
of  the  world's  opinion,  than  he  could  be  if  long  habit  had 
not  led  him  to  consider  that  opinion  as  an  irrevocable  sen- 
tence, from  which  there  is  no  appeal. 

But  the  strong  love  ^\•ith  which  Helen  had  inspired 
him  wrestled  with  all  the  habits  of  his  thought,  and  the 
education  of  a  lifetime,  now  armed  and  fighting  against  it. 
Until  the  last  moment  he  had  refused  to  believe  she  could 
be  one  of  the  race  whom  from  infancy  he  had  looked  upon 
^as  created  only  for  the  use  or  amusement  of  their  lordly 
superiors. 

He  had  risked  something  to  aid  ^Michel ;  he  had  been 
tmiformly  kind  to  his  father's  servants,  and  was  beloved 
by  them  ;  but  it  had  all  proceeded  from  the  disposition 
that  made  him  once  shelter  a  terrified  pig,  which  the  dogs 
were  worrying,  and  feed  those  same  dogs,  and  pet  them, 
when  they  fawned  upon  him.     Perhaps   he  had  never 


274  C  A  8  T  E  . 

once,  even  in  thought,  admitted  the  colored  raco  to  a  hu- 
manity equal  with  his  own.  But  Colonel  Bell's  appear- 
ance, and  the  clear  and  simple  proofs  of  the  truth  of  his 
story,  agreeing  as  they  did  with  what  Helen  had  previ- 
ously told  him  of  herself,  forced  him  at  length  to  yield ; 
and  then  came  the  question,  the  struggle,  that  racked  his 
very  soul.  To  marry  her  seemed  impossible  ;  to  give  her 
up,  and  Avith  her  all  his  dreams  of  bliss,  seemed  equally 
impossible.  Plis  hesitation  and  doubt  were  pitiable,  and 
generosity  and  affection  sometimes  shrank,  convulsed  and 
trembling,  within  the  serpent  coils  which  prejudice  had 
wound  about  his  soul. 

As  he  walked  the  room  thus  perturbed  and  excited,  he 
heard  some  one  rap  at  his  door,  and,  when  he  had  opened 
it,  his  father  entered. 


CHAPTER    FIFTEENTH. 

«*  £tre  stomal,  rassemWe  autour  de  moi  rinnombraWe  foule  de  mes  scmblables ; 
qu'ils  ^coutcnt  mes  confessions,  qu'ils  gemissent  de  mes  indignites,  qu'ils  rou- 
gissent  de  mes  misferes !  Que  chacun  d'enx  d^couvre  &  son  tour  son  coeur  au  jiiod 
de  ton  trone,  ayec  le  meme  eincerite,  et  puis  qu'un  seul  te  dise,  s'il  l'ose,jefu3 
meilieur  que  cet  hcmme  Id."  —  Rousseau. 

Mk.  Warnek  met  his  son's  inqviiring  glance  witli  an 
air  of  embarrassment,  and  took  one  or  two  turns  across 
the  room,  before  he  could  find  words  to  say.  Then  he 
only  uttered  the  commonplace  phrase,  "I'm  sorry  for 
you,  Hubert;  this  is  sad  business."  ^ 

"Sad!"  ejaculated  Hubert,  with  secret  impatience, 
which  he  tried  to  conceal  under  his  habitual  calmness  of 
manner. 

"  You  must  try  to  bear  it  like  a  man,"  Mr.  Warner 
added. 

"I  do  ;  don't  I  ?  "  said  Hubert,  irritated  by  this  well- 
meant  attempt  at  consolation.  His  wound  was  too  sensi- 
tive to  endure  handling. 

"  I  hope  you  wUl.  You  will  suffer  at  first,  of  course ; 
but  it  is  all  in  a  lifetime.  We  get  over  every  thing,  if 
we  live  long  enough." 

"  I  think   I  heard  you   give   the  same  consolation  to 

(275) 


27fi  CASTE. 

Angle  the  other  day,  sir,  when  her  kitten  died,"  said  Hu- 
bert, frowning  slightly. 

*  "  Don't  think  I  am  unfeeling,  my  son,"  replied  Mr. 
Warner,  coloring  a  little  at  this  remark.  "  If  I  tell  you 
the  same  things  to-day,  it  is  only  because  these  common 
sayings  come  to  one's  lips  when  one  don't  know  what  else 
to  say.     I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  to  say  to  you  now." 

The  old  man's  voice  trembled,  and  Hubert,  repenting 
of  his  irritability,  said,  more  kindly,  — 

"  I  know  you  feel  badly,  father,  but  you  must  excuse 
me.  There  are  things  about  which  a  man  don't  want  to 
be  condoled  with." 

"  But  Hubert,  I  must  say  one  thing  ;  I  shouldn't  have 
intruded  upon  you  only  for  that."  He  paused,  hesitated, 
and  J^en  added,  "  You  won't  forget  yourself,  and  do  any 
thing  rash  —  you  won't  feel  yourself  now  bound  by  obli- 
gations you  assumed  under  a  totally  different  state  of 
things  r " 

He  spoke  interrogatively  ;  but  Hubert  made  no  reply, 
and  in  a  few  moments  he  continued,  with  increasing  em- 
barrassment, — 

''  Of  course  it  was  well  enough  for  you  to  tell  her  that 
you  would  never  give  her  up  ;  it  may  be  as  well  to  let 
her  think  so  till  she  gets  back  to  her  brother,  or  wherever 
Colonel  Bell  may  see  fit  to  send  her  ;  for  I  suppose  he 
will  take  charge  of  her  now.  But  then  you  can't  seri- 
ously mean  it?  " 

"  It  is  no  matter  how  many  lies  I  tell  her  now,  I  sup- 


P  A  11  E  N  T  A  r,     A  11  V  I  C  E  .  277 

pose,  since   she   is    discovered    to    be  only  about   seven 
eighths  white,"  said  Hubert,  mockingly. 

"Hem!  ha!  why,  I  don't  mean  that,  of  course,"  re- 
plied his  father ;  "  but  you  can't  possibly  marry  her  now." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  In  the  first  place,  it  is  against  the  law  of  the  state  —  " 

"  Law !  0,  yes,  nice  laws  thoy  are,"  interrupted  Hu- 
bert, "  but  more  honored  sometimes  in  the  breach  than  in 
the  observance." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  You  are  wild,  boy,"  said  Mr. 
Warner,  beginning  to  be  alarmed.  "  Beware  how  you 
scorn  my  advice.  I  only  seek  your  good,  and  you  are  too 
much  excited  now  to  know  exactly  what  you  ought  to  do. 
You  may  do  something  you  will  be  sorry  for." 

"  Very  likely  I  shall,"  said  Hubert ;  "  it  won't  be  the 
first  time,  if  I  do." 

"  Don't  be  rash,  my  son.  Don't  throw  away  your  rep- 
utation, and  disgrace  your  family,  for  the  sake  of  a  head- 
long fancy  you  will  regret  by  and  by." 

"  I  am  not  apt  to  be  Quixotish  ;  I  think  I  shall  keep 
cool,"  Hubert  answered.  But  the  next  moment,  he 
turned  around  so  fiercely  that  his  father  was  startled,  ex- 
claiming, "  I  don't  believe  one  single  word  of  this  story  ; 
it  is  all  a  lie  —  an  infernal  lie  ;  and  I'll  call  out  Colonel 
Bell,  and  make  him  pay  for  it  with  his  blood." 

"You  won't  help  the  matter  any,  if  you  do,"  replied 
his  father.     "  The  report  came  from  his  wife,  and  I  be- 
lieve she  has  taken  pains  to  spread  it  every  where." 
24 


278  CASTE. 

"  She  is  a  Jezebel,"  said  Hubert,  vehemently. 

"  No  matter  for  that ;  people  will  believe  her ;  and  now 
the  story  must  be  generally  known,  and  you  could  never 
marry  any  body  who  was  even  suspected  to  be  tainted  with 
negro  blood.  Think  of  the  disgrace  it  would  cast  upon 
your  brothers  and  sisters,  and  what  all  the  world  would 
say  about  it !  They  would  think  you  either  crazy  or  a 
fool,  and  you  would  be  ashamed  of  it  yourself  by  and  by. 
No,  no,  Hubert ;  be  ruled  by  us  for  once,  and  go  away 
somewhere  until  we  have  settled  this  business.  It  is  bad 
enough  as  it  is,  and  will  only  be  harder  to  manage,  if  you 
meddle  Avith  it.  You  are  no  longer  a  boy,  and  you  ought 
to  have  sense  enough  to  help  you  bear  your  disappoint- 
ment, and  be  thankful  you  discovered  the  secret  when  yo;i 
did.  How  do  you  suppose  you  should  have  felt,  if,  after 
you  had  been  married  a  few  years,  you  had  found  out 
your  wife  was  partly  a  negro  ?  " 

"  Father,"  exclaimed  Hubert,  growing  very  pale,  "  it  is 
my  opinion  that  the  less  we  talk  on  the  subject,  the  better 
it  will  be  for  us.  I  have  my  own  thoughts,  and  I  shall 
do  as  I  think  best.  If  you  would  like  to  stay  here,  you 
are  welcome  to  use  my  chamber  as  long  as  you  wish.  1 
am  going  to  take  a  walk ;  "  and,  making  a  low  bow,  he 
took  his  hat,  and  went  out. 

Helen  had  been  an  hour  or  two  alone  that  evening. 
She  had  heard  the  children's  voices,  as  they  passed  her 
door,  hushed  to  a  low  whisper,  for  they  had  been  told  she 
was  ill ;  and  then  their  merry  laughter  and  prattle  in  the 


A     MISSIVE. 


279 


nursery  at  the  end  of  the  hall,  as  they  were  being  un- 
dressed. Then,  the  servant's  steps  and  voice  died  away, 
and  the  house  became  still,  except  the  sound  of  an  occa- 
sional word,  or  the  shutting  of  a  door  in  the  distance, 
and  the  low  murmur  of  conversation  between  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Warner,  in  the  parlor  beneath  her  chamber. 

A  small  lamp  burned  on  her  tabic,  and  she  stood  read- 
ing by  its  light  a  tiny  note,  which  she  had  just  discovered 
on  the  sill  of  her  door.     It  contained  these  words :  — 

"  Beloved  Helen,  —  dearer  now  than  ever,  —  meet  me 
in  my  sanctum  at  the  end  of  the  piazza,  at  eight  o'clock. 
I  shall  wait  for  you,  and  by  your  love  I  conjure  you,  do 
not  disappoint  me." 

No  name  was  signed,  but  she  knew  too  well  who  traced 
those  lines,  and  she  pressed  them  to  her  lips,  and  blessed 
him.  She  knew  also  the  place  to  which  he  referred.  It 
was  on  the  same  floor  with  her  own  chamber,  and  she 
could  easily  reach  it  by  going  around  the  house  on  the 
upper  piazza,  which  extended  along  the  wing  of  the  build- 
ing, at  the  extreme  end  of  which  a  small  room  had  been 
appropriated  to  Hubert's  sole  use,  as  a  smoking  room,  and 
place  of  deposit  for  his  guns  and  fishing  rods,  and  his  few 
books  and  papers. 

It  was  a  whim  of  his  to  choose  this  place  for  them, 
since  he  declared  that  when  they  were  kept  in  his  cham- 
ber, he  could  never  find  any  thing  where  he  left  it,  in 
consequence  of  the  inveterate  propensity  his  mother  and 
the  maids  had  for  sweeping  and  dusting.     Into  this  bach- 


280  CASTE. 

elor's  den,  however,  no  servant  was  allowed  to  enter,  and 
he  was  permitted  to  keep  it  in  as  untidy  a  condition  as  he 
pleased. 

Helen  hesitated  a  few  moments  after  reading  the  note. 
She  had  been  compelling  herself  to  look  calmly  at  her 
desolate  state,  and  consider  how  she  should  meet  its 
trials.  She  was  not  of  a  meek  and  quiet  temper.  Had 
she  been  possessed  of  less  good  sense,  or  less  thoroughly 
learned  to  control  herself,  hers  would  have  been  rather  a 
turbulent  and  stormy  nature  ;  and  as  it  was,  she  had  quick, 
sensitive  feelings,  easily  aroused,  and  not  so  easily  quelled, 
great  dignity  of  character,  and  something  of  the  aristo- 
cratic pride  belonging  to  her  father's  family.  But  she 
was  generous,  warm-hearted,  and  full  of  delicate  sensibil- 
ity ;  and  though  she  had  seen  much  of  the  world,  she  had 
not  adopted  its  selfish  maxims,  or  believed  in  its  philoso- 
phy. Never  for  one  moment  doubting  Hubert's  faith  and 
love,  clinging  to  those  brave  words,  "  I  will  never  give 
you  up,"  as  her  only  safeguard  from  insanity,  she  could 
yet  see  that  his  mother  was  right,  and  it  was  best  they 
should  never  meet  again.  Never  should  he  have  cause  to 
blush  for  the  wife  of  his  bosom.  Never  should  child  of 
his  share  the  shame  which  she  inherited.  Never  should 
he  for  her  sake  be  an  outcast  from  his  family,  and  face 
the  sneers  of  the  wcnld.  And  O,  more  than  all,  never 
should  he,  in  any  future  time,  regret  that  his  noble  heart 
had  been  oifered  to  one  whose  narrow  gaze  could  not 
take  ill  the  future,  in  M'hich  she  might  be  a  bli'dit  and 


WHEN     COULD     LOVE     REFUSE?  281 

a  mildew  on  all  his  hopes  and  aspirations.  Better  a 
lonely  life  for  them  both ;  better  that  he  should  forget 
her  than  that  this  should  be. 

She  had  resolved  to  arrange  with  Mrs.  Warner  that  she 
might  be  sent  to  the  cars  the  next  day,  without  his  knowl- 
edge ;  for  the  very  bitterness  of  shame  which  she  endured 
at  the  thought  of  herself,  made  her  more  than  ever  un- 
■willing  to  accept  the  aid  Colonel  Bell  had  offered,  and 
she  longed  to  go  where  none  would  know  her,  and  no  eye 
could  mark  her  sorrow.  But  those  few  simple  words  un- 
nerved her  resolution,  and  filled  all  her  soul  with  a  resist- 
less yearning  to  see  him,  to  hear  his  voice  once  more,  to 
be  clasped  in  his  arms  again,  —  and  then  to  die. 

She  looked  at  her  watch.  It  was  a  little  past  the  hour. 
The  note  had  been  there  some  time  before  she  saw  it. 
She  approached  the  window,  opened  the  shutters,  and, 
trembling  in  every  limb,  stepped  out  into  the  moonlight, 
and  then  with  slow,  hesitating  footsteps,  uncertain  if  she 
was  doing  right,  she  walked  to  the  corner  of  the  piazza. 
The  moment  she  reached  it,  she  saw  Hubert  standing  in 
the  angle  of  the  buildings,  a  few  feet  distant. 

"  I  knew  you  would  come  ;  I  knew  you  could  not  refuse 
me,"  he  said,  and  held  out  both  arms  as  he  came  towards 
her.  Cold,  agitated,  fainting,  she  fell  iq^on  his  breast. 
O  the  mingled  rapture  and  anguish  of  that  moment,  and 
the  long,  long  embrace  which  followed,  wherein  Hubert 
carried  rather  than  led  her  along,  until  they  had  reached 
24* 


282  C  A  S  T  E. 

his  sanctum,  and  were  seated  together  on  the  sofa,  ^Yhicll 
was  the  sole  resting-place  its  confined  limits  afforded. 

His  arms  were  around  her,  her  aching,  tear-Avorn  head 
rested  on  his  shoulder,  and  his  lips,  hovering  over  hers, 
murmured  low  words  of  fondness  that  fell  on  her  heart 
like  balm.  For  a  little  while  she  gave  herself  up  to  this 
blissful  time  of  quiet  repose,  between  the  storm  which 
had  wrecked  her  hopes  and  the  tempest  whose  Avaves 
would  overv\'helm  her  when  she  had  parted  from  him  for- 
ever ;  and  from  the  very  excess  of  her  love  jJnd  gratitude, 
her  soul  grew  strong  for  the  sacrifice  she  contemplated. 

"  It  is  happiness,  it  is  bliss  to  be  here,  but  it  is  for  the 
last,  last  time,"  she  said,  with  mournful  calmness,  as  she 
raised  herself  at  length  from  her  resting-place. 

"The  last  time!  O,  no,"  he  answered.  "Have  we 
not  tried  living  apart,  and  found  it  impossible  ?  What  a 
day  this  has  been  —  to  me  !  Has  it  not  been  long  and 
terrible  to  you  ?  " 

She  shuddered,  and  sighed  deeply,  but  could  not  speak. 
"  I  am  afraid  you  wondered  why  I  did  not  come  to  you," 
he  continued  ;  "  but  they  insisted  I  should  not." 

"  They  were  right ;  and  yet  I  could  not  deny  you  this 
last  interview,  though  it  may  be  improper.  I  could  not 
deny  myself  the  pleasure  of  telling  you  once  more  how  I 
blessed  you  for  your  affection,  and  what  a  comfort  and 
support  its  memory  would  be  to  ine  when  we  were  sepa- 
rated." 


T  V  Y     S  T  R  O  N  G  K  R     THAN     OAK.  283 

"  Why  do  yoii  talk  so,  Helen  ?     Can  you  live  without 
me  ?     Can  v.e  live  apart  r  " 
■    "  We  7)iust,,  Hubert." 

"  We  7nust  not.     I  ivi/l  not  give  you  u^i." 

Her  voice  and  manner  liad  a  dreary  calmness,  but  his 
was  tremulous  and  excited,  aiid,  as  he  spoke,  he  drew  her 
head  down  to  its  i^lace  on  his  shoiilder." 

She  yielded  a  moment,  and  then  rising,  she  gently  and 
with  a  dignity  that  enforced  obedience,  removed  herself 
from  his  arms. 

"  Hear  me,"  she  said,  gently.  "  We  must  meet  no 
more.  To-morrow  I  shall  leave  this  house,  and  you  must 
not  follow  mc.  Through  the  few  short  days  that  may 
remain  to  me  in  the  world,  1  shall  live  upon  the  thought 
of  your  noble  and  generous  love  ;  I  shall  bless  you  for  it ; 
I  shall  remember  it  night  and  day.  I  don't  know  where 
my  days  may  be  spent,  or  what  will  become  of  mc  ;  but  I 
believe  1  am  doing  now  the  only  thing  tliat  can  give  them 
peace,  since  thus  you  will  never  blush  for  the  woman  you 
have  loved." 

"  You  are  determined,  then !  And  I,  —  what  am  I  to 
do?  "  he  asked,  almost  sullenly. 

"  I  do  not  tell  you  to  forget  me,"  she  answered,  in 
quivciing  tones  ;  "  but  O,  if  you  cannot  otherwise  be 
happy,  it  were  better  that  you  should." 

"  You  say  so,  —  you  !  And  you  pretend  to  have  loved 
mc ! " 

She  could  not  bear  this  sharp  reproof. 


284 


"  Love  you  !  "  she  exclaimed ;  "  you  never  knew,  you 
never  thought  how  much.  But,  loving  you  thus,  can  I 
consent  you  should  sacrifice  your  family,  your  friends,  all 
your  prosjjects  in  life,  and  brave  the  frowns  of  the  world 
for  me  ?  For  I  know  how  it  will  be.  I  know  how  the 
world  looks  on  such  as  I  am,  —  cursed  from  my  birth ! 
No ;  never  shall  you  sacrifice  yourself  to  marry  me." 

Hubert  drew  nearer  to  her,  and  there  was  a  gloomy  fire 
in  his  eyes,  as  he  grasped  her  hand,  with  a  strong  pressure. 

"  Helen,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  suppose  that  had 
not  been,  and  I  had  a  home,  a  fairy-like  home,  by  the 
side  of  a  silver  lake,  embowered  in  trees,  in  a  land  where 
it  is  always  summer,  and  the  skies  arc  serene  as  our  lives 
would  be ;  suppose  you  lived  there,  and  I  was  with 
you  most  of  the  time,  but  present  or  absent,  ever  true  to 
you,  living  only  for  you,  our  brief  separations  only  mak- 
ing our  meetings  more  full  of  joy ;  suppose  you  lived 
there,  with  books,  and  flowers,  and  birds,  —  could  you 
be  content,  even  though  you  seldom  saw  any  neighbor,  or 
had  any  company  except  mine  ?  " 

"  Why  do  you  ask  me  this  ?  Why  do  you  picture  hap- 
piness that  can  never  be  ours  ?  "  she  answered,  half  fear- 
fully. 

"  Becaiise,  O  Helen,  let  us  fly  together  to  some  such 
home,  and  forget  this  miserable  world,  that  turns  its  back 
on  you." 

She  shook  her  head  with  a  faint,  sad  smile. 

"  You  must  not  talk  so,"  she  said.     "  This  is  no  time 


LOVE     \:^  D     PRIDE.  285 

to  unnerve  our  souls  witli  dreams.  Even  in  the  home 
you  picture,  we  should  hear  the  voice  of  this  same  scorn- 
ful world ;  you  would  hear  it ;  and  perhaps  you  might 
repent." 

He  shrank  from  the  clear  li.'^^ht  of  her  eyes,  for  he  was 
secretly  conscious  of  a  hesitation  and  dread  which,  even 
in  that  moment  of  excitement,  was  not  wholly  forgotten. 
He  blushed  to  own  it  to  liimself,  but  he  felt  it,  neverthe- 
less, and  his  voice  was  fainter,  as  he  replied,  — 

"  But  what  can  you  do,  Helen,  if  you  will  not  let  me 
protect  you  ?  Your  education,  your  accomplishments,  can 
no  longer  find  you  a  support,  and  you  Avill  be  self-tie- 
pendent,  unless  you  consent  to  receive  the  aid  you  reject- 
ed this  morning  from  C<:)loncl  Bell.  What  can  you  do  ? 
I  shudder  when  I  look  to  the  future.  O  Helen,  we  have 
loved  so  well ;  you  are  my  soul's  idol ;  why  must  we 
part?" 

But  she  felt  the  hesitation  —  the  dread.  Through  all 
his  anxious  protestations  of  love,  her  sensitive  nature  rec- 
ognized the  jarring  of  that  weakness  in  his  soul,  and  she 
said,  still  more  coldly  and  sadly,  "  Poverty,  destitution, 
the  lowliest  lot  to  wliich  fate  may  bring  me,  would  be  as 
nothing  in  comparison  wjth  the  fear  that  you  might  regret 
the  sacrifices  you  must  endure  to  make  me  your  wife. 
O  Hubert,  dare  you  tell  m?  even  now  that  you  would 
not  blush  to  have  it  known  yuu  married  me  ?  —  that  you 
do  not  at  this  moment  hesit:itc  between  love  and  pride  ?  " 

She  withdrew  her  hand  from  his  as  she  spoke  ;  and  a3 


286  CASTE. 

her  piercing  gaze  met  his,  he  colored,  and  half  turned  his 
head  from  her.  She  could  not  know  all  the  thoughts  that 
struggled  in  his  soul,  but  she  was  not  mistaken  in  the 
intuition  which  had  revealed  to  her  what  he  dared  not 
speak,  and  her  proud  soul  was  roused  and  stung  almost 
to  madness. 

"  You  dared  to  ask  if  I  loved  you,"  she  exclaimed,  ris- 
ing suddenly,  and  standing  before  him  ;  "  you,  who  have 
never  known  a  love  so  strong  that  it  could  bear  self-sacri- 
fice. Do  not  speak ;  I  saw  your  thoughts  in  your  face. 
O,  I  never  imagined,  when  I  used  to  study  its  varying 
expression,  that  the  day  would  come  when  I  should  read 
there  any  scorn  of  me.  I  needed  only  this  to  show  me  I 
have  indeed  fallen  low." 

"  Helen,  you  mistake  ;  you  judge  me  harshly  ;  you  do 
not  read  me  aright,"  he  cried,  in  shame  and  anguish.  "  I 
love  you  —  love  you  dearly." 

"Love  me!  yes,  but  how?"  she  answered,  bitterly. 
"  O,  why  did  I  come  here  only  to  discover  this  —  to  lose 
the  last  comfort  left  me  in  believing  you  stronger,  better, 
more  noble  than  those  who  will  pursue  me  with  cold  pity 
and  feeble  sympathy,  harder  to  bear  than  scorn  ?  Why 
did  you  send  for  me  r  Had  you  not  been  all  day  bal- 
ancing bet^^'ccn  your  compassion  for  me,  an^  the  worldly 
policy  that  made  yo\ir  mother  say  it  was  best  we  should 
never  meet  again  r  " 

Her  w(n-ds  were  too  true  ;  and  when  she  paused,  in- 
quiringly, the  denial  he  would  have  spoken  faltered  on  his 


F  A  K  E  W  E  T.  L  !  287 

tongue.  Yet  he  threw  himself  on  his  knees  at  her  feet, 
and  tears  no  bodily  torture  could  have  -wrung  from  him 
dimmed  his  eyes. 

"  I  never  meant  you  should  know  it,"  he  said,  humbly 
and  fervently ;  "  but  since  you  force  me  to  confess  it,  will 
you  be  implacable,  and  deny  me  any  pity  or  forgiveness  r 
I  can  never  cease  to  love  you.  Helen,  my  heart  is  bleed- 
ing now,  and  torn  with  grief.  O,  such  a  miserable  day  as 
this  has  been  !  Consider  in  what  a  channel  my  thoughts 
and  feelings  have  run  from  childhood,  and  do  not  hate 
me.     If  we  must  part,  at  least  let  us  part  in  peace.'" 

"Part  —  yes,  it  is  time  we  parted,"  said  Helen,  wildly, 
pressing  her  clasped  hands  on  her  heart,  with  a  frantic 
gesture.  "  I  do  not  hate  you  ;  O,  no,  no  !  that  can  never 
be  !  But  it  is  as  Colonel  Bell  told  me  —  you  cannot  rise 
above  the  prejudices  of  your  class  —  and  this  is  no  place 
for  me.     Farewell,  Hubert !  farewell  forever  !  " 

She  was  gone.  He  caught  at  her  dress,  but  she  drew 
it  from  his  hand  as  she  vanished.  He  called  her  name ; 
she  heard  him,  but  answered  not,  and  fled  in  breathless 
haste  to  her  chamber. 

Yet,  once  there,  alone  and  in  safety,  she  repented.  O, 
strange  —  woman's  heart !  she  repented  that  she  had  left 
him  with  those  last  words.  The  love,  the  passionate  wor- 
ship she  had  cherished  for  so  many  months,  rose  up  in 
wild  rebellion  against  the  fate  which  had  overthrown  its 
idol.  His  kneeling  figure,  his  features  distressed  and 
ghastly  in  the   pale  moonlight,  hia    beseeching   gesture, 


288  CASTE. 

came  before  her  mental  vision,  and  slie  could  pardon  the 
Bclfishness  she  had  so  angrily  resented. 

She  longed,  with  intense  yearnings,  to  return  to  him, 
to  comfort  him ;  nay,  in  that  moment  of  insanity,  -ftith 
her  reeling  brain  and  her  fainting  heart,  she  longed  to  fly 
with  him,  and  forget  the  world  and  the  miseries  with 
which  it  menaced  her. 

Then  came  a  swift  reaction  of  feeling  and  thought,  that 
made  her  cry  out  for  human  help  and  sympathy.  The 
loneliness  of  her  quiet  room  oppressed  instead  of  sooth- 
ing ;  and  she  glanced  around  with  a  restless  pining  to 
hear  some  voice  speaking  words  of  comfort,  to  throv/  her- 
self upon  some  strong  arm,  which  could  shield  her  from 
herself  and  Hubert ;  and  more  than  all,  to  escape  to  some 
spot  where  she  should  never  again  see  him  who  had  so 
cruelly  disappointed  her  confidence  in  liis  love. 

At  that  moment,  for  the  first  time  recollected,  came  the 
gentle,  warning  voice  of  INIrs.  Avenel,  and  her  earnest 
manner,  as  she  said,  "  I  will  always  be  your  friend.  If 
sorrow  comes  upon  you,  remember  this,  and  come  to  me." 

"  I  will  go  ;  this  very  night  I  will  go.  The  roof  that 
shelters  Hubert  is  now  no  place  for  me.  God  only  knows 
what  I  shall  do  ;  but  I  cannot  remain  any  longer  alone, 
for  my  brain  is  growing  wild." 

Thus  Helen  said  to  herself;  and  without  pausing  to 
think  of  the  distance  or  the  hour,  she  threw  a  light  shawl 
over  her  head,  and  going  along  the  piazza,  in  an  opposite 
direction  to  that  she  had  before  traversed,  she  came  to  a 


F  r.  T  G  11  T  .  289 

flight  of  steps  wliich  led  to  the  ground.  Xonc  heard  her 
light  step  as  she  flitted  past  the  windows.  None  saw  her 
as  she  stole  away  amid  the  shadows.  The  air  was  balmy 
and  still,  and  the  moonlight  fell  over  the  landscape,  clear 
and  calm,  like  a  soft  white  hand,  laid  gently  upon  the 
feverish  heart  of  earth,  to  hush  its  throbbings.  I5ut  the 
hush  and  repose  of  nature  had  no  power  to  soothe  the 
loud  tumult  of  despair  and  apprehension  which  quickened 
Helen's  steps  to  breathless  haste. 

The  two  houses  were  not  more  than  four  miles  apart, 
and  she  had  sometimes  -walked  the  distance  ;  but  now  she 
ran,  she  flew  ;  an  invisible  power  seemed  upholding  and 
urging  her  forward,  without  rest  or  pause.  She  met  no 
white  person  on  the  lonely  road,  and  the  few  negroes  who 
were  strolling  about  hid  themselves,  quaking  with  fear,  in 
the  dim  shadows  of  the  huge  old  pines,  and  told  after- 
wards, with  distended  eyes  and  suppressed  breath,  how*, 
on  such  a  night,  a  ghost  had  glided  swiftly  by  them, 
along  the  sandy  road. 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  ;  but  Mrs.  Avenel  had  been 
reading,  as  she  sat  alone  in  the  old-fashioned  square  par- 
lor, where  once  at  this  hour  she  had  not  been  alone  — 
where  once  she  had  looked  up  from  her  book  to  meet 
kind  eyes  gazing  fondly  on  her,  to  hear  many  a  childish 
question,  to  sympathize  M-ith  many  a  youthful  feeling, 
and  to  feel  herself  the  centre  of  the  home  which  was  then 
so  happy. 

25 


290  CASTE. 

Where  vv-ere  they  now — all  those,  -who  were  wont  to 
gather  in  social  converse  around  that  table,  whence  now 
the  lamplight  cast  her  shadow  lonely  on  the  wall  ?  Alas ! 
they  were  dead,  or  distant,  or  —  bitterest  of  all  to  real- 
ize —  unlo'V'ing  and  estranged  from  her,  the  widowed 
mother  of  an  only  child. 

But  she  had  become  accustomed  to  her  loneliness,  and 
habit  attached  her  to  the  spot  where  she  had  known  much 
joy  and  no  little  grief;  and  she  led  a  dreamy  life;  the 
monotony  of  which  was  not  unpleasing  to  her  sensitive 
and  somewhat  feeble  organization. 

Closing  her  book  at  length,  she  arose  and  went  to  the 
window.  The  vines,  clustering  over  the  latticed  piazza, 
glistened  in  the  radiance  that  pictiu-ed  their  airy  tremble 
in  masses  of  light  and  shade  upon  the  floor,  and  made  the 
white  sands  of  the  avenue  look  like  snow,  as  it  stretched 
away  between  its  dark  linos  of  trees.  She  was  about  to 
close  the  shutters  and  fiisten  them,  when  she  perceived 
something  which  caused  her  to  look  more  earnestly,  and 
pass  her  hand  across  her  eyes  to  satisfy  herself  she  was 
not  dreaming. 

Even  while  she  looked  it  drew  neai'er  —  a  rapidly-mov- 
ing yet  staggering,  tottering  figure,  that  Avaved  to  and 
fro  with  wild,  uplifted  arms,  and  hair  falling  like  a  black 
veil  over  the  light  dress  which  fluttered  as  it  sped  onward. 

"  Heaven  preserve  us !  what  is  this  ? "  said  !Mrs.  Avenel ; 
and  she  stood  divided  between  curiosity  and  fear. 


A     HAVEX XOT     TOO     SOON.  291 

On  it  came,  struggling,  panting,  as  one  in  the  last  throes 
of  exhaustion,  yet  never  pausing  until  it  was  near  —  was 
opposite  the  spot  where  she  stood  spell-bound  ;  and  then  it 
seemed  to  see  her.  The  arms  were  reached  out  towards 
her,  the  colorless  face  was  turned  to  her ;  a  voice  so 
changed,  so  agonized,  that  she  did  not  recognize  it,  cried 
out,  "  O  Mrs.  Avenel,  save  me  !  save  me !  "  and  Helen 
Dupre  fell  senseless  on  the  steps  she  was  trying  to  ascend. 
Startled  and  shocked  as  she  was,  Mrs.  Avenel  instantly 
divined  all  that  could  be  told,  and  sprang  forward  to  aid 
her  friend.  She  put  aside  the  shrouding  hair,  and  raised 
her  face,  speaking  kind  and  tender  words  to  recall  her 
senses,  for  she  dreaded  to  let  any  of  the  servants  see  her 
in  this  condition.  But  her  desperate  flight  had  drawn  too 
powerfully  on  the  springs  of  life.  With  the  first  gasp  of 
breath  came  a  choking,  gurgling  sound,  and  a  dark  stream 
of  blood  flowed  over  her  pallid  lips. 


CHAPTER    SIXTEENTH, 


'  Thou  wast  that  all  to  mo,  lovo, 
For  which  my  soul  did  pine  — 
A  green  isle  in  the  sea,  love, 
A  fountain  and  a  shiine, 
All  wreathed  about  with  fairy  flowei'8 ; 
And  all  those  flowers  were  mine. 

'  Ah,  dream  too  bright  to  last  1 
0  starry  hope,  that  did  arise 
But  to  be  OTei-cast ! 
A  voice  from  out  the  Future  cries, 
'  On  !  on  ! '  — but  o'er  tlie  Past, 
(Dim  gulf!)  my  spirit  hovering  lies. 
Mute,  motionless,  aghast ! " 


CoLoxEL  Bell  had  expected  mortification  and  suffer- 
ing in  making  his  confession,  and  in  Avitnessing  its  effects 
upon  those  who  heard  it ;  and  he  had  nerved  himself  to 
endure  calmly  and  manfully  this  penance  for  the  sins  of 
his  youth.  Bat  he  was  himself  unaware  how  strong  was 
the  hold  which  Helen  had  taken  of  his  heart,  or  how 
acute  would  be  the  pain  of  seeing  her  utterly  prostrated, 
and  writhing  beneath  the  blow  his  hahd  was  compelled  to 
give ;  and  still  less  Avas  he  prepared  to  see  her  turn  with 
anger  and  contempt  from  the  protection  and  love  he 
offered  her,  and  which  he  had  for  a  few  hoiu's  dared  to 
hope  would  ultimately  bring  her  consolation,  and  be  to 
him  a  means  of  peace  and  happiness,  such  as  he  had  not 

(292) 


DPcEADIN'G     DETECTION.  293 

enjoyed  for  3'ears.  Intense,  almost  unendurable,  ■was  the 
chagrin  with  which  he  had  left  her  alone  in  her  sorrow. 
He  had  gone  thither  in  his  carriage,  intending  to  bring 
her  away  ^^^ith.  him,  and  carry  her  to  the  little  cottage 
where  his  happiest  days  were  spent,  until  he  could  pre- 
pare a  better  asylum  ;  and  then,  if,  as  he  expected,  Hu- 
bert Warner  shrank  from  making  her  his  bride,  he  meant 
to  cross  the  ocean  with  her,  and  establishing  himself 
there,  make  her  the  idol  of  his  declining  years. 

Vain  dreams  !  His  bitterest  enemy  could  have  wished 
him  no  more  torture  than  the  desolate  disappointment  with 
which  he  sank  back  on  the  cushions,  and  gave  the  order 
to  drive  homeward. 

Clara  was  watching  for  his  return  with  a  degree  of 
anxiety  that,  had  it  been  less  selfish,  might  luive  passed  for 
sjTnpathy.  If  he  did  not  discover  that  she  had  dared 
reveal  bis  secret,  if  the  Warners  did  not  know  from  whom 
the  report  proceeded,  she  could  laugh  at  Fate  and  take 
courage.  But  he  proceeded  through  the  garden  directly 
to  the  library,  and  locking  himself  in,  gave  orders  that  he 
should  be  disturbed  by  no  one. 

He  did  not  come  out  to  dinner,  and  she  grew  fearful 
and  troubled  ;  but  when  the  tea  hour  came,  he  joined  her 
for  a  few  moments,  and  though  he  made  no  reference  to 
Helen,  and  was  very  pale  and  quiet,  he  seemed  more  sad 
than  stern,  and  she  began  to  hope  again. 

After  tea.  he  retired  immediately.  Lights  were  burning 
26* 


294 


on  the  library  table,  and  it  wa^  covered  with  papers,  as  if 
he  had  been  examining  and  arranging  accounts,  prepara- 
tory to  leaving  home.  He  glanced  at  them  with  a  weaiied 
air,  as  he  took  his  seat  again  before  them,  and  after  a  few 
moments  of  thought,  pushed  them  in  a  heap  together 
away  from  him,  and,  taking  a  sheet  of  paper,  commenced 
writing  —  commenced  and  recommenced,  wrote  and  re- 
^vrote,  often  tearing  up  and  thro'n-ing  away  Avhat  seemed 
nearly  finished.  But  at  length  he  seemed  hopeless  of 
satisfying  himself,  and  dashed  rapidly  along  until  a  sheet 
was  covered,  and  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair  to  read  what 
he  had  written.     It  was  as  follows  : 

"  Helen  —  child  of  the  lost  C'orilla  —  my  child  —  I 
have  covered  a  dozen  sheets  of  paper  in  trying  to  tell  you 
what  she  was  to  me,  and  what  you  are.  But  words  are 
A-ain ;  or  perhaps  I  can  talk  better  than  I  can  write  ;  for 
the  written  words  seem  cold,  and  tame,  but  when  I  speak 
them,  when  I  call  your  name  with  A^'ords  of  endearment, 
here  in  my  solitary  room,  they  burn  on  my  lips  like  fire. 
O  Helen,  I  am  a  miserable  man.  Your  mother  was  my 
wife  by  a  spiritual  and  holy  marriage  which  her  own  pure 
nature  sanctified,  and  her  early  death  redeemed  forever 
from  being  classed  in  my  thoughts  vdth.  common  and  vul- 
gar connections  of  the  kind.  I  knov/  Avhat  I  say  may 
shock  you  ;  it  is  well  it  should  ;  but  I  must  say  it,  to  ex- 
plain why  I  have  cared  so  fondly  for  you  and  your  brother, 
and  tried  so  hard  to  raise  you  above  the  disabilities  of 
your  birth.     Your  mother  was  pure.     I   only  was  sinful 


A    father's    love.  295 

and  false.  It  was  this  I  meant  when  I  said  I  wronged 
her.  Do  you  call  this  sophistry  ?  Perhaps  it  is,  but  I 
cannot  endure  the  memory  of  your  last  scornful  look.  I 
must  redeem  myself  in  your  eyes ;  I  must  redeem  her. 
The  proud  woman  who  now  bears  my  name  is  not  worthy 
to  be  her  successor. 

"  Helen,  you  must  love  me.  I  know  not  what  unnat- 
ural hate  possesses  you,  to  turn  from  me  as  you  did  this 
morning.  Have  you  been  with  me  so  much  this  summer, 
and  yet  never  felt  the  strong  magnetism  of  affection,  that 
should  have  attracted  you  to  me  }  never  known  why  I 
watched  you  so  closely,  and  rejoiced  in  your  beauty  and 
happiness,  or  been  conscious  of  the  thousand  times  when 
I  have  longed  to  take  you  in  my  arms  and  bless  you  ? 
Helen,  you  must  love  me. 

"  I  suppose  by  tliis  time  they  have  told  you  all  the  de- 
tails I  had  told  them ;  or  perhaps  you  overheard  all, 
instead  of  part  of  my  story.  I  have  been  trying  to  tell 
it  over  again,  but  I  cannot  write  it.  You  must  hear  it 
from  my  own  lips.  When  shall  I  come  to  you  r  O,  how 
my  heart  yearns  for  you  !  You  spurned  my  love  this 
morning,  but  it  must  be  that  after  so  many  hours  of 
thought  you  have  gro^^^^  calmer,  and  can  appreciate  my 
reasons  for  not  sooner  manifesting  an  interest  in  you. 
You  must  see  now  that  my  silence,  my  apparent  desertion, 
was  but  a  proof  that  I  loved  you  with  a  true,  unselfish 
affection,  which  was  willing  to  deny  itself  for  the  good  of 
its  object.      It  may  be.  poor  child,  that  bv  this  time  vou 


296  CASTE. 

see  also  some  other  loves  forsaking  you !  some  other 
friendship  failing!  O,  if  it  be  so,  come  to  my  heart,  and 
find  there  a  wealth  of  love  which  shall  never  cease.  I 
entreat  you,  let  me  protect  you.  Let  me  assume  a  father's 
right  OA^er  you,  and  be  your  support  and  comfort.  I  am 
so  humbled,  so  crushed  in  spirit,  that  I  dare  not  insist 
upon  this,  unless  you  give  me  permission ;  but  with  my 
whole  soul  I  beg  it  of  you,  as  a  man  djdng  of  thirst 
woi:ld  beg  for  water.  Do  not  scorn  my  prayer.  Do  not 
hate  me  for  the  unintentional  evil  I  have  caused  you. 

"  O  Helen,  you  may  have  thought  me  a  quiet  and  stern 
man.  I  know  I  seem  so.  I  knoAV  I  am  called  .cold 
hearted.  I  do  not  wonder  that  people  thus  regard  me, 
for  I  am  cold  to  most ;  stern,  perhaps,  to  some.  But  it 
seems  to  me  sometimes  that  the  very  hardness  of  the 
crust  which  years  have  gathered  over  my  heart,  layer  by 
layer,  thickening  and  hardening,  has  only  kept  the  deli- 
cate fibre  within  more  sensitive  than  that  which  beats  in 
the  breasts  of  other  men.  If  you  could  know  how  it 
thrills  and  aches  to  think  of  the  words  you  spoke  this 
morning,  you  would  recall  them,  and  allow  me  to  hope 
that  you  will  one  day  learn  to  love  me. 

"  May  I  come  and  see  you  ?  O  my  child,  if  others 
forsake  you,  we  two  will  be  all  the  world  to  each  other. 
We  will  go  to  foreign  lands,  where  these  heathenish 
prejudices  are  not  rife,  and  men  will  not  sneer  at  you  for 
the  rich  darkness  of  your  check.  You  and  your  brother 
and  I !     How  happy  we  might  be  together !     I  am  weary 


nature's   s  t  11  o  n  o  appeal.  297 

of  a  house  full  of  ill  natiu'c  and  strife,  and  long  for 
peace  and  quiet.  My  only  hojie  is  in  you.  Can  you  not 
pity  me  }  " 

He  had  written  thus  far,  when  he  read  it  over ;  and 
again  he  proceeded. 

"  I  have  been  reading  this  letter  ;  and  how  cold  and  lan- 
guid it  seems  in  comparison  with  the  warm  emotion  of  my 
soul !  It  is  incoherent,  too,  but  it  may  be  that  will  only 
convince  you  how  much  I  am  in  earnest.  If  you  will  let 
me  protect  you,  if  you  will  bless  me  with  your  love,  send 
me  word,  that  I  may  come  to  you.  But  if,  when  you  have 
read  this,  it  awakens  no  emotion  of  affection,  if  you  still 
turn  from  me  in  proud  disdain,  I  pray  you  send  me  no 
message,  no  word.  I  could  not  bear  another  syllable  of 
unkindness  from  you.  It  would  break  my  heart.  In  that 
case,  I  shall  provide  for  your  temporal  wants  as  it  be- 
comes a  father  to  do  for  his  child,  but  I  will  never  attempt 
to  see  you  again.  You  cannot  annul  my  obligations  to 
you,  though  you  may  deny  me  the  sweet  and  tender 
recompense  of  fiHal  love." 

He  signed  the  letter,  and  folded  it ;  then,  placing  it  iu 
an  envelope,  directed  and  sealed  it.  "Weary,  yet  hopeful, 
he  sank  back  in  his  chair.  "  Surely  this  will  move  her," 
he  said  to  himself.  "  I  have  seen  her  quick  sympathies 
so  often  aroused  by  far  less  than  this.  Now  that  the  first 
stunning  shock  Ims  passed,  she  cannot  fail  to  pity  me." 

A  dreamy  revcry  succeeded,  from  which  he  awoke  at 
length  to  realize  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  and  that  he  did 


298  CASTE. 

not  sleep  any  the  previous  night.     He  rang  the  bell,  and 
a  servant  entered,  to  whom  he  said,  — 

"  Here  is  a  letter  which  I  Avish  you  to  take  to  Mr. 
Warner's  to-morrow  morning.  I  am  fatigued,  and  may 
sleep  late ;  but  you  will  be  on  your  way  so  early  as  to  be 
there  by  the  time  the  family  are  at  breakfast.  The  letter 
is  to  Miss  Dupre,  a  young  lady  who  lives  there,  and  you 
must  be  sure  she  receives  it,  for  it  is  of  great  importance." 

"  Shall  I  wait  for  an  answer,  massa?  " 

"Yes,  certainly;  that  is,  I  expect  she  will  return  an 
answer,  and  you  must  not  come  away  until  you  are  cer- 
tain there  is  none  to  be  sent." 

The  servant  took  the  letter,  bowing  respectfully,  and 
w^as  about  to  vdthdraw,  when  his  master  called  him  back. 

"  Stay,"  he  said.  "  I  think  the  letter  is  safest  here 
until  morning.  You  may  lose  it  if  you  carry  it  with  you. 
I  wll  lock  it  in  the  table  drawer,  and  lay  the  key  here  on 
my  desk,  behind  this  book.     Do  you  see?" 

"  Yes,  massa  ;  nobody  can't  steal  him  there." 

"  You  will  know  where  to  find  it ;  and  I  hope  you  will 
be  able  to  return  so  as  to  give  me  an  answer  when  I 
awake." 

"  Trust  me,  massa  ;  I'll  hurry,"  said  the  servant,  and 
went  out,  followed  in  a  little  while  by  his  master,  who 
extinguished  the  lights  with  his  own  hand,  and  turned 
the  key  in  the  lock,  as  he  shut  the  door,  and  with  a  slow, 
thoughtful  step  retired  to  his  own  room. 

Hardly  had  the  glimmer  of  the  candle  he  carried  dis- 


THE     SPY     A  G  A  I  X  .  299 

appeared  in  the  darkness  of  the  long  hall,  than  the  door 
of  the  closet  adjoining  the  library  was  silently  pushed 
open,  and  a  form  so  muffled  in  dark  robes  as  to  be  indis- 
tinguishable amid  the  shadows,  felt  its  way  slowly  up  the 
stairs,  and  along  the  walls,  until  the  door  of  Mrs.  Bell's 
boudoir  was  reached  ;  and,  opening  it  cautiously,  the  fig- 
ure entered.     It  was  Marise. 

Mrs.  Bell  was  reclining  by  the  open  window,  half  asleep 
on  the  silken  cushions  of  her  lounge ;  but  at  her  maid's 
entrance  she  started  up,  exclaiming  languidly,  — 

"  Well,  Avhat  now  r  " 

"  He  has  gone  to  bed,"  replied  the  girl ;  "  and  I  declare 
I  am  glad  of  it,  for  I  am  tii-ed  to  death  watching  through 
that  little  hole.  I  don't  wonder  your  back  has  been  most 
broken  sometimes.  Miss  Clara." 

"  It  is  inconvenient,  but  it  was  the  best  we  could  do," 
said  her  mistress  ;  "  and  it  has  served  some  good  purposes 
for  you  and  me.  I  think  now  we  are  pretty  sure  of  leav- 
ing tliis  hateful  place ;  and  you,  my  good  Marise,  shall 
see  the  gargon  who  was  so  in  love  with  you  at  Aix  three 
years  ago  —  if  he  hasn't  forgotten  you." 

"  There's  plenty  more  if  he  has,  I  reckon,"  replied  the 
girl,  with  a  toss  of  her  head. 

"But  have  you  nothing  to  tell  me?  "  asked  Mrs.  Bell. 
"  Has  he  been  doing  nothing  all  this  evening  ?  I  wish 
that  closet  was  where  Ave  could  get  at  it  in  the  daytime." 

"  He's  been  writing  a  letter,  that  he  took  a  powerful 


300  CASTE. 

heap  of  pains  about,  and  Jim  is  to  carry  it  to  Mr.  War- 
ner's to-morrow." 

"  Ha!  Marise,  I  must  see  that  letter." 
"  It  is  easy  enough  to  get,  by  and  by,  when  they  are  all 
safe  asleep.  He  was  going  to  give  it  to  Jim,  but  he 
didn't.  He  locked  it  up  in  the  table  drawer,  and  put  the 
key  behind  a  book.  I  laughed  to  myself  when  he  did  ; 
and  says  I,  Them  that  sees  things  hid  knows  where  to 
find  'em." 

"  True  enough  !  It  would  have  been  difficult  to  get  it 
if  he  had  given  it  to  Jim." 

"  Jim's  hard  to  manage,  but  I'd  made  sure  to  get  it 
some  how.  Wouldn't  Colonel  Bell  kill  me  if  he  knew 
about  that  hole  ?  I  tremble  when  I'm  there  sometimes. 
I  can  see  him  so  plain,  it  seems  as  if  he  must  see  me." 
"  Pooh  !  "  said  Mrs.  Bell,  carelessly. 
"  But  'spose  he  should  go  to  the  closet,  some  time,  and 
find  it  out." 

"  He  won't.     He  never  goes  there." 
"  Ail  his  fishing  rods  are  laying  there,  and  his  guns." 
"  He  never  uses  them,  except  when  he  has  company  to 
hunt  or  fish,  and  that  hasn't  been  for  these  two  years. 
He  is  getting  too  old  to  enjoy  it,  I  suppose." 

An  hour  later,  when  all  the  house  was  still,  the  same 
dusky  figure,  bearing  a  tiny  taper,  whose  gleam  looked 
like  a  glow-worm  in  the  dark,  might  have  been  seen  bend- 
ing over  the  desk  in  the  library,  unlocking  the  drawer, 
and   bearing   away   the   letter   which   Colonel    Bell   had 


SUCCESSFUL     TIL"    '     •"  301 

thought  so  secm-ely  placed.  Pie  had  some  suspicion  that 
his  wife  watched  him,  and  he  had  known  instances  in 
which  she  had  attempted  to  bribe  his  servants,  'ho  were 
generally  faithful  to  him  ;  but  he  had  no  idea  how  far  her 
espionage  extended,  or  to  what  a  system  it  had  been 
reduced. 

Clara  Bell  took  the  letter  from  her  servant,  and  after  a 
long  time,  and  careful  painstaking,  she  succeeded  in  open- 
ing the  envelope  without  breaking  the  seal.  It  was  not 
the  first  time  she  had  accomplished  the  same  deed,  but 
never  before  in  the  presence  of  a  witness  ;  and,  as  she 
looked  up  and  met  her  servant's  gaze,  she  was  conscious 
of  a  faint  sensation  of  shame. 

"  He  is  my  husband,  you  know,  after  all,  and  I  have  a 
right  to  know  his  secrets,"  she  said,  apologizing,  half  to 
herself  and  half  to  her  servant,  for  the  meanness  of  her 
act.  "  I  must  know  what  is  in  the  letter,  or  I  cannot  tell 
what  he  means  to  do  with  her.  "N^'hen  I  have  read  it  I 
can  seal  it  up  again ;  so  there  will  be  no  harm  done." 

"  Law,  Miss  Clara  !  I  wouldn't  care.  Don't  he  abuse 
you  shamefully:  I'd  undermine  him  if  I  could,"  said 
Marise,  who  perceived  that  Mrs.  Bell  needed  a  little  en- 
couragement. She  would  have  been  surprised,  and  her 
mistress  would  have  considered  herself  insulted,  had  any 
one  asserted  that  she  exerted  a  strong  influence  over  one 
who  seemed  so  much  above  her.  But  yet  such  is  the 
power  of  e^dl  association  that  much  of  the  petty  cruelty 
26 


m 


and  malice  of  wHcli  Clara  Bell  had  been  guilty,  had  been 
instigated  and  augmented  by  the  sly  and  bold  wickedness 
of  this  favorite  maid. 

As  Clara  read,  her  fair  cheek  reddened  with  excitement, 
and  a  fierce,  exulting  light  dilated  her  blue  eyes.  Helen 
had  scorned  him  then — had  rejected  his  love  mth  con- 
tempt. Ah,  she  knew  too  well  how  deeply  that  would 
wound  him,  for  her  experience  had  measured  the  sacrifice 
which  his  pride  was  willing  to  make  to  his  affections. 
But  when  she  came  to  the  end,  and  saw  the  plans  he  had 
formed,  she  laid  down  the  letter,  and  sat  for  a  while  in 
deep  and  perplexed  thought. 

"  This  letter  must  not  be  sent ;  it  may  spoil  every  thing 
if  it  gets  to  her,"  she  said,  at  length,  to  Marise. 

"  Some  letter  must  be  sent,"  replied  the  girl :  "  that 
boy  Jim  would  go  through  fire  and  water  before  he  would 
leave  doing  any  thing  his  master  told  him  to." 

"What  can  we  do?"  asked  Mrs.  Bell,  pondering. 
"  Ah,  I  have  it !  Instead  of  this,  something  must  be  sent 
to  offend  her  —  to  widen  the  breach  between  them." 

"  If  Miss  Clara  could  write  something  to  look  like  this 
writing,"  suggested  Marise. 

"  I  can't —  you  know  I  can't,"  said  her  mistress,  shortly. 
"  I  could  tell  the  difference  myself,  and  if  he  should  ever 
see  it  I  should  be  ruined.  I've  got  on  nicely  so  far,  and 
I  won't  spoil  every  thing  by  bungling  with  counterfeits 
now." 

Again  she  read  the  letter,  and  it  waa  with  a  feeling  of 


A     CRUEL     PLOT.  303 

mingled  pity  and  disdain  that  she  held  it  forth  to  the 
candle  and  saw  it  curl  and  blaze,  as  it  slowly  consumed. 

"Poor  old  fool!"  she  said;  "if  he  had  been  a  little 
less  overbearing  to  me,  I  don't  know  but  I  should  have 
let  him  have  Avhat  comfort  he  coiild  in  that  child  of  his. 
But  it  will  never  do  now  to  let  them  make  it  up,  and  go 
away  together  —  I  should  be  more  in  his  power  than  ever, 
and  I  was  nothing  but  a  slave  before." 

"  Why,  Miss  Clara !  'pears  like  you  was  beginning  to 
pity  him,"  said  Marise,  who  had  overheard  this  soliloquy. 

"  I  can  afford  to,  child,  for  I  see  my  way  clear  to  tri- 
umph over  him,"  replied  the  mistress  ;  and  the  cold  glitter 
returned  to  her  eyes,  and  her  lips  grew  white  with  the 
determined  contraction  of  their  muscles. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  Somehow  I  feel  uneasy, 
while  that  di-awer  is  left  open." 

"  I'll  show  you  what  I  will  do.  Bring  me  the  box 
from  my  dressing  table." 

The  girl  obeyed;  and  Clara,  taking  some  bank  notes 
from  a  secret  drawer,  placed  one  on  a  sheet  of  paper  and 
the  rest  in  her  purse  ;  then  folding  the  note  in  the  blank 
paper,  she  inserted  it  in  the  envelope,  and  dexterously 
sealing  it  with  a  little  gum  arable,  handed  it  to  Marise 
with  a  triumphant  flourish. 

"  Why,  Miss  Clara,  I  thought  you  was  going  to  try  to 
offend  her  !  "  said  she,  with  an  astonished  air. 

"  So  I  am,  you  ninny.  That  will  touch  missy's  pride  ; 
I  can  see  her  eyes  fia.sh  now  I     She  is  as  proud  as  Lucifer." 


304  CASTE. 

"  What,  sending  her  two  hundred  dollars  ?  Lud  !  I 
wish  somebody  would  try  to  make  me  mad  that  way." 

"  It  wasn't  two  hundred  dollars  ;  it  was  twenty  dollars. 
Don't  you  see  what  a  mean  thing  it  would  seem  to  be  in 
Colonel  Bell  to  send  her  such  a  pittance  as  that,  without 
any  word  of  inquiry  or  explanation  r  " 

"  Lud  !  yes,  indeed.  Trust  you  for  thinking  of  things  ! 
I  thought  it  was  more,  or  I'd  have  seen  at  once  what  you 
was  up  to." 

"  Well,  take  it  now,  and  put  it  where  you  found  it.  I 
defy  any  body  to  tell  that  it  has  been  meddled  with.  Be 
quick,  Marise,  and  then  come  and  undress  me,  for  it  is 
late,  and  I  did  not  sleep  well  last  night." 

There  seemed  to  be  a  spirit  of  unrest  in  the  mansion 
apparently  so  silent  that  night.  Colonel  Bell  turned  and 
tossed  on  his  bed,  vainly  striving  to  sleep.  The  gentle 
goddess  was  coy  and  hard  to  win  ;  and  when  at  last  she 
touched  his  eyelids,  she  laid  upon  them  the  spell  of  fright- 
ful visions,  from  which  he  awoke  with  a  struggle,  and 
called  impatiently  ujion  Jim,  who  slept  on  the  matting 
outside  his  chamber  door. 

"What  is  it,  massa  —  daylight  ain't  come  yet,"  said 
the  boy,  springing  up  at  the  first  word,  but  rubbing  his 
eyes  to  keep  them  open. 

"  No  —  I  know  it  is  not  daylight —  it  wasn't  for  that  I 
called  you.  I  have  liad  a  dream,  so  vivid  that  I  cannot 
compose  myself,  unless  I  know  it  is  only  a  dream.  I 
dreamed  I  saw  somebody  at  my  table,  taking  that  letter 


A     WARXIXG     TOO     LATE-  305 

out  of  the  drawer.  Light  a  candle,  and  go  see  if  it  is 
there,  and  if  so  bring  it  to  me." 

The  boy  complied,  secretly  trembling  at  being  sent 
alone  through  the  empty  rooms,  in  obedience  to  a  warn- 
ing conveyed  in  dreams,  but  too  full  of  devotion  to  his 
master  to  allow  him  to  discovet  his  reluctance.  Colonel 
Bell's  apartments  were  in  the  wing  of  the  building,  at 
the  end  of  which  the  library  was  built,  so  that  he  had  but 
a  few  steps  to  go  from  the  anteroom,  where  he  slept,  to 
the  stairs  which  led  to  the  library  door.  As  he  reached 
this  place  he  fancied  he  heard  a  slight  noise ;  and  as  he 
paused,  he  saw  for  one  brief  instant  a  spark,  like  a  fire- 
fly, only  larger  and  more  brilliant,  glimmer  in  the  dark- 
ness below. 

It  was  only  an  instant.  He  looked  again,  and  all  was 
silent  and  full  of  gloom.  It  might  be  that  the  light  he 
held  had  dazzled  his  eyes,  he  thought,  and,  taking  courage, 
went  down  to  the  library.  All  seemed  exactly  as  his 
master  had  left  it  —  the  key  behind  the  book,  the  letter 
in  the  drawer  ;  and  with  glad  heart  he  seized  it,  and  has- 
tened back  without  stopping  to  lock  either  drawer  or  door. 
Had  he  looked  behind,  as  he  rapidly  ascended  the  stairs, 
he  would  have  seen  Marise,  as,  shrouded  in  her  dark  man- 
tle, her  noiseless  footsteps  guided  by  the  light  he  held, 
she  glided  at  safe  distance  behind  him,  and,  when  he  had 
closed  the  door  of  his  master's  room,  hastened  on  to  re- 
late her  escape  to  her  mistress.  She  had  just  locked  the 
26* 


306  •  CASTE. 

library  door  when  she  saw  the  gleam  of  his  candle,  and  in 
a  breath  extinguished  her  taper,  whose  small  flame  only 
illumined  a  few  inches  of  the  space  around  it,  and  slipped 
into  the  angle  beneath  the  stau-way. 

"  Did  you  find  it  r  "  asked  Colonel  Bell,  anxiously,  as 
Jim  entered. 

"  Yes,  massa — all  right  —  here  he  is." 

Colonel  Bell  took  the  letter  from  his  hand,  and  after 
examining  it,  to  assure  himself  it  was  the  one  to  which 
he  referred,  placed  it  beneath  his  pillow,  with  a  sigh  of 
relief. 

"  I  will  never  again  be  affected  by  a  dream,  since  this 
proves  untrue,"  he  said,  in  a  low  tone,  and  then  added, 
aloud,  "  You  can  lie  down  now  and  sleep,  and  at  sumise 
awake  me,  if  you  cainiot  get  the  letter  in  any  other  way." 


Helen's  hemorrhage  had  not  been  very  severe,  and  the 
simple  remedies  which  Mrs.  Avenel  knew  how  to  apply 
had  soon  checked  it ;  but  the  physician  ordered  entire 
rest  and  quiet,  and  there  was  little  fear  that  his  directions 
would  be  disobeyed.  Utterly  exhausted  in  body  and 
mind,  she  lay  motionless  and  almost  lethargic  on  the  bed 
where  the  affrighted  servants  had  borne  her  at  her  friend's 
command,  with  scarce  enough  of  life,  or  the  power  of 
thought,  to  realize  what  had  occurred  to  bring  her  there, 
or  why  it  was  that  at  times  the  wish  arose  in  her  soul  that 
she  might  never,  never  again  return  to  strength  or  health. 


THE     MESSAGE.  307 

Mrs.  Avenel  had  spent  the  night  beside  her.  and  was 
going  to  her  own  room  for  a  little  repose,  when  she  saw 
Colonel  Bell's  servant  standing  at  the  hall  door.  She 
stopped  to  accost  him,  and  he  gave  her  the  letter,  with  a 
strict  charge  to  deliver  it  into  Helen's  own  hand. 

"  She  is  ill,  and  I  think  had  better  not  be  disturbed 
this  morning,"  said  Mrs.  Avenel,  hesitating. 

"  She  must  hab  dat  ar,  miss,  if  she  be  sick.  It  ob 
de  greatest  importance,  mass  colonel  say.  I  must  make 
sure  she  hab  it." 

"  Is  there  an  answer' requested  ?  "  she  asked. 

"He  say  he  didn't  zackly  know  ;  he  'spec  so,"  replied 
the  boy. 

Still  she  hesitated ;  but  Jim  insisted  upon  the  impor- 
tance hj^  master  attached  to  the  letter,  and  uncertain 
what  she  ought  to  do,  but  unwilling  to  risk  Helen's  wel- 
fare in  any  way,  and  hoping  the  letter  might  contain  some- 
thing that  would  be  of  comfort  to  her,  she  at  length 
concluded  to  take  it  to  Helen,  and  be  guided  by  her 
\\-ishes  with  regard  to  it. 

"  Helen,  dear,"  she  said,  bending  over  the  pale  face 
that  lay  on  the  pillow,  "  here  is  a  letter  to  you  from  Colo- 
nel Bell.  Don't  speak  ;  it  ■\\-ill  hurt  you ;  but  press  my 
hand,  if  you  are  willing  I  should  open  it  and  see  what  it 
contains.  There  may  be  something  here  Avhich  it  would 
be  well  for  you  to  know." 

Helen  gave  the  desired  assent,  and  Mrs.  Avenel  broke 
the  seal,  and  took  from  the  envelope  what  seemed  to  be  a 


36$ 


letter ;  but  she  could  not  restrain  an  exclamation  of  cha- 
grin when,  instead  of  the  words  of  interest  and  cheer  she 
expected  to  find,  she  saw  only  blank  paper,  and  the  bill 
for  twenty  dollars,  which  slipped  out,  and  fell  upon  the 
bed. 

"  What  can  this  mean  ?  "  she  said,  her  gentle  nature 
aroused  to  indignation,  as  she  saw  the  faint  flush  which 
suff'used  the  face  of  the  sick  girl.  "  If  I  had  dreamed 
that  this  was  what  the  envelope  contained,  you  should 
never  have  seen  it." 

"Is  there  nothing  else  ?  Not  a  word?"  said  Helen's 
feeble  voice. 

"  Nothing,"  replied  her  friend,  examining  the  paper 
anew.  "  I  should  think  it  might  be  an  imposition,  only 
that  I  am  certain  this  is  the  colonel's  writing  on  the  en- 
velope. His  _  style  is  peculiar,  and  covild  not  be  easily 
imitated.     This  is  his  seal,  too.     I  don't  understand  it." 

"  Probably  I  offended  him  yesterday,"  said  Helen. 

"  What  did  you  say  ?  But  no,  don't  tell  me  now.  You 
ought  not  to  talk." 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  said,  but  he  evidently  means  to 
retaliate,  by  this  insult.  I  said  something  harsh,  I  re- 
member." 

"  O,  I  can't  think  it.  And  yet  Clara  says  he  is  a 
strange  man.  I  was  always  a  little  afraid  of  him,  and  I 
think  she  is.  Perhaps  he  might  do  it,  if  you  offended 
him  ;  and  yet  it  is  too  cruel." 

There  was  a  pause,  for  Helen  was  too  much   pro.itrated 


X  0     A  X  S  \V  E  R  . 


309 


for  violent  feeling,  and  too  weak  to  talk,  and  she  closed 
her  eyes,  and  turned  away  her  head  wearily.  After  too 
many  blows,  the  heart  as  well  as  the  body  becomes  be- 
numbed. 

Mrs.  Avenel  gathered  up  the  paper  and  the  money,  and 
returning  them  to  the  envelope,  was  about  to  leave  the 
room  quietly,  when  Helen,  hearing  her  move,  opened  her 
eyes,  and  beckoned  her  to  return. 

"  Is  the  messenger  waiting  ?  "  she  whispered. 

"  He  is." 

Helen  took  the  envelope  from  her  hand,  and  Avith  her 
trembling  fingers,  deliberately  tore  it,  with  its  contents, 
into  minute  pieces,  and  gathering  them  together,  gave 
them  to  Mrs.  Avenel. 

"Tell  the  boy  to  take  these  to  his  master,"  she  said, 
faintly. 

Mrs.  Avenel  nodded  acquiescence,  and  glided  away. 
She  approved  of  returning  this  answer,  but  its  decisive 
boldness  was  so  foreign  to  her  own  timidity,  that  before 
she  descended  the  stairs,  she  began  to  waver  respecting 
its  judiciousness,  and  to  think  it  might  be  better  for  Helen 
not  to  do  any  thing  further  to  provoke  the  anger  of  one 
who  should  naturally  be  her  protector  and  friend.  There- 
fore throwing  the  bits  of  paper  out  of  the  window,  she 
told  the  boy  that  the  message  he  brought  required  no 
answer,  and  he  departed,  eager  to  relieve  his  master's 
anxiety. 


310 


He  found  Colonel  Bell  lingering  over  a  late  breakfast 
in  his  own  room. 

"  Wasn't  I  gone  smart,  massa?  "  he  said,  exultingly,  as 
he  entered. 

The  colonel  smiled  anxiously,  and  answered,  "  You 
have  done  well.     I  hope  you  bring  some  message." 

The  boy  shook  his  head  negatively.  "  No,  mass  colo- 
nel, Missis  Avenel  say  dere  ain't  no  answer." 

"  Mrs.  Avenel !  I  told  you  to  go  to  Mr.  Warner's. 
You  have  made  a  mistake,  you  stupid  boy." 

"No,  massa,  I  ain't  made  no  'stake.  I  went  clar  way 
to  Mass  Warner's,  and  when  I  get  dere,  I  meets  Missis 
Avenel' s  Josh,  jest  done  come  over  to  tell  Miss  Helen 
was  over  to  his  house.  Dey  was  jest  gettin'  mighty  scare 
over  dere  to  know  what  had  come  ob  her,  for  'pears  like 
she  done  lef '  'em  mighty  suddent ;  so  den  we  race  over 
dere  togerer,  and  I  sees  Missis  Avenel,  and  gives  her 
de  letter." 

"  What  did  she  say  ?  " 

"  She  say  Miss  Helen  sick,  and  fust  'pears  like  she 
didn't  mean  to  give  her  no  letter  no  how.  But  dey  don't 
put  dis  chile  off  dat  way,  mass  colonel.  When  I  sticks, 
I  sticks  like  a  tumble  bug,  and  dere  ain't  no  gettin'  red  o' 
me.  So  I  'sisted  'pon  it,  till  I  made  her  go  to  Miss 
Helen's  chamber." 

"  And  they  returned  no  answer  ! "  said  the  colonel, 
growing  very  pale.     "  Was  she  long  gone  ?  " 


HOPE     EXTIXGITISHET).  311 

"  Yes,  massa,  mighty  long  time  ;  Avhen  she  come  back, 
she  say  dere  ain't  no  answer,  and  so  I  come  away." 

Colonel  Bell  arose  suddenly  from  his  chair,  and  walked 
to  the  window.  Jim  thought  he  heard  a  smothered 
groan,  and  when,  a  moment  after,  he  turned  to  bid  him 
leave  the  room,  the  affectionate  boy  was  startled  to  see 
how  haggard  and  care-worn  he  looked. 

"  I  hopes,  massa,  I  ain't  done  nothin',"  he  began  to  say, 
in  an  anxious  tone  ;  but  the  colonel  interrupted  him. 

"  Go,"  he  said,  waving  his  hand  ;  "  you  have  done  well 
enough.     Go." 

The  boy  retired,  full  of  alarm  and  curiosity  ;  but  he 
consoled  himself  by  saying,  "It's  some  o'  missis'  doin's. 
She's  allers  cuttin' up  and  plaguing  massa;"  and  forth- 
with proceeded  to  the  kitchen,  to  obtain  his  long-deferred 
breakfast. 

Colonel  Bell  remained  a  long  tinae  alone,  trying  to  over- 
come the  shock  of  this  bitter  disappointment.  In  propor- 
tion as  Helen  rejected  and  shrank  from  him,  his  pity  and 
love  for  her  increased.  He  could  in  some  sort  appreciate 
the  feeling  with  which  he  thought  she  regarded  him,  and 
have  patience  with  it,  and  excuse  it  to  liimself.  Irritable 
and  impatient  of  opposition  as  he  had  often  shown  him- 
self, his  whole  nature  seemed  changed  when  he  thought 
of  her,  and  he  could  no  more  have  been  angry  with  her, 
even  then,  than  with  the  lost  Gorilla,  whose  image  had 
been  so  long  shrined  in  his  heart's  holy  place.  But  when 
the  absorbing  hope  of  winning  Helen's  love  had  failed 


312  CASTE. 

liim,  his  old  emnity  and  dislike  to  his  wife  returned  in  full 
force,  and  called  more  loudly  than  ever  for  vengeance. 
His  eyes  flashed,  and  his  teeth  clinched  together  as  he 
thought  of  her. 

"  Had  she  not  wronged  me  enough  before  ?  Had  she 
not  made  my  home  a  hell  r  —  that  she  must  now  go  so 
much  farther,  and  blight  the  fame  and  happiness  of  one 
.who  never  injured  her,  simply  to  wreak  the  hatred  she 
feels  for  me  !  Why  should  I  spare  her  any  longer  ?  Did 
I  not  warn  her  what  her  fate  would  be,  if  in  sheer  malice 
she  braved  me  thus  ?  And  now  shall  she  be  allowed  to 
exult  over  my  miserable  failure,  and  mock  me  with  her 
jeering  laugh  of  triumph  r  Ah,  Clara  Bell !  Clara  Bell ! 
you  have  reached  the  length  of  your  chain :  you  shall 
rue  the  day  you  did  this  deed  !  " 


CHAPTER    SEVENTEENTH. 


"  Knowest  thou  the  hate 
That  maddens  with  its  own  intensity, 
And  burns  the  heart  worse  tlian  a  living  fire  ? 
Such  is  the  passion  set  within  my  breast, 
Till  I  avenge  her." 

"  0,  that  human  love 
Should  be  the  root  of  this  dread  bitterness !  " 


Colonel  Bell  secluded  liimself  in  his  library  during  all 
the  day  after  his  cruel  disappointment  with  regard  to  the 
letter  he  had  written  his  daughter.  One  of  his  overseers 
came  upon  some  matters  of  business,  and  was  admitted  ; 
but  with  this  exception  he  did  not  allow  himself  to  be 
seen  by  any  one.  Late  in  the  afternoon  he  ordered  his 
horse,  telling  Jim  to  have  lights  and  tea  ready  in  the 
library  when  he  returned.  Just  as  he  was  setting  out, 
Clara  returned  from  her  daily  drive,  and  as  he  passed 
slowly,  their  eyes  met.  She  recoiled  before  the  glance 
he  gave  her ;  but  recollecting  herself,  she  assumed  an 
air  of  innocence,  and  beckoned  him  to  stop.  He  checked 
his  horse  at  the  carriage  window,  and  she  asked,  in  the 
most  musical  tones,  "  Why  do  you  keep  so  secluded  ? 
I  have  not  seen  you  for  two  days." 

"  And  you  are  anxious  about  me  ?  —  loving  wife  that 
you  are." 

26  (313) 


314  CASTE. 

She  Avould  not  notice  the  sneer,  but  replied,  "  I  should 
have  been  anxious,  only  I  inquired  and  learned  you  were 
not  ill." 

"  And  yet  I  think  I  can  remember  the  time  Avhen  you 
could  endure  existence  several  days  together  without 
seeing  me,"  he  said,  Avith  a  sardonic  smile. 

"  But  you  have  favored  me  with  so  much  of  your  com- 
pany lately,  that  I  am  quite  lonely  without  you  now." 

"  I  commiserate  your  case,  Mrs.  Bell,  and  will  try  and 
procure  you  other  company,"  he  answered  ;  and  there 
was  something  ominous  in  his  expression,  which  made 
her  heart  beat  rapidly,  while  its  scornful  sullenness  exas- 
perated her. 

"  I  hope  it  will  be  eqiially  agreeable  and  amiable,"  she 
said,  adding,  in  a  low  tone,  "  perhaps  it  may  be  some  of 
your  own  family." 

He  caiight  the  indistinct  Avords,  and  his  face  flushed 
crimson.  "Clara  Bell,"  he  said,  sternly,  "never  dare 
allude  to  that  again,  as  you  love  your  life ;  "  and  spur- 
ring his  horse,  he  dashed  rapidly  away. 

It  was  nearly  dusk  when  he  arrived  at  Mrs.  Avenel's. 
She  saw  him  from  the  window  of  Helen's  chamber,  as  he 
came  up  the  avenue,  and  descended  to  the  parlor  to  meet 
him.  He  entered  with  an  agitated  manner,  and  declin- 
ing  to  sit   down,  said,  in  a  low,  embarrassed  tone, — 

"I  have  called  to  inquire  for  Miss  Helen.  My  boy 
Baid  she  Avas  ill  at  your  house." 

"  She  is    quite  ill ;    though  the  physician    thinks  she 


F  K  U  I  T  L  E  S  S     ATTEMPT.  315 

only  needs  rest  and  freedom  from  excitement.  The 
hemorrhage  was  not  very  severe." 

"  Was  it  so  serious  as  that  r  "  exclaimed  he,  —  "a 
hemorrhage  !     Was  it  occasioned  by  excitement?  " 

"  Partly,  and  partly  by  over  exertion.  She  walked, 
or,  rather,  I  should  say  she  ran,  the  whole  distance  here, 
last  night ;  she  was  nearly  distracted.  When  she  reached 
here  she  dropped  down  senseless,  and  for  a  little  while 
I  thought  she  was  dying.  0  Colonel  Bell,  it  is  dreadful 
to  see  her  suffer  so  much.'' 

Mrs.  Avencl  had  spoken  with  a  cold  dignity,  and  taken 
pleasure  in  thus  punishing  her  hearer  for  his  strange  con- 
duct in  the  morning ;  but  when  she  saw  him  suddenly 
sink  into  a  chair  and  bury  his  face  in  his  hands,  with 
a  stifled  moan,  she  became  perplexed,  and  scarcely  less 
agitated  than  himself.  A  few  courageous  words  spoken 
then  woidd  have  relieved  him  of  much  pain,  but  his 
companion  was  too  nervous  to  ask  for  the  explanation 
she  longed  to  hear ;  and  after  a  pause,  he  collected  him- 
self, and  rising  again,  said  calmly,  — 

"  It  is  very  sad  —  very  dreadful.  There  arc  no  words 
in  which  to  speak  of  it.  But,  deserted  as  she  evidently 
is  by  those  to  Avhom  she  clung  most  nearly,  she  rejects 
all  my  offers  of  kindness,  and  I  cannot  intrude  further." 

"  But  you  could  not  expect  an  answer  to  the  letter 
this  morning,"   she  ventured  to   say. 

"  Perhaps  not,"  he  answered  sorrowfully ;  "and  yet  I 
did  expect  it.     I  thought  she  would  accept  my  assistance. 


316  CASTE. 

I  hoped  for  a  word  —  a  message  ;  but  she  refused  it.  I 
deserve  it,  doubtless,  and  yet  I  hardly  supposed  her  so 
proud.  But  it  is  useless  to  talk  of  it.  Command  me  in 
any  way  you  please  for  her.  It  will  be  my  greatest 
pleasure  to  serve  her,  if  she  will  allow  it." 

He  waited  a  moment;  but  Mrs.  Avenelwas  so  much 
surprised  and  confused,  that  she  did  not  know  what  to 
reply,  and  bowing  courteously,  he  bade  her  good  evening, 
and  went  away. 

Eeturning  home,  he  found  the  parlor  lighted,  and 
merry  voices  told  that  guests  had  unexpectedly  arrived. 
He  pleaded  indisposition,  and  spent  the  evening  alone. 
The  next  morning  he  arose  early.  As  his  valet  was 
assisting  him  to  dress,  he  learned  that  his  wife's  com- 
pany intended  making  a  visit  of  several  days. 

"  That  is  fortunate  ;  for  I  shall  be  absent  for  a  w^eek 
or  two,  and  Mrs.  Bell  will  not  be  lonely." 

The  valet  was  accustomed  to  these  sudden  departures, 
but  he  had  so  seldom  heard  Mrs.  Bell's  name  from  her 
husband's  lips,  that  he  opened  his  eyes  in  astonishment. 

"  Shall  I  go  with  you,  sir  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,  I  shall  not  require  any  servant ;  but  I  shall  take 
Jim  a  little  way  along  with  me.  Tell  him  to  have  horses 
ready  when  I  have  finished  breakfast." 

The  order  was  obeyed,  and  when  Colonel  Bell  descend- 
ed to  the  hall  door,  he  found  Jim  awaiting  him,  in  a  high 
state  of  sclf-gratulation,  at  the  honor  of  being  selected 
to  accompany  his  master. 


AX     EBOXY     STKOXG     BOX.  c-,n 

CO 

When  they  had  ridden  a  mile  or  two  at  a  rapi. 
the  colonel  checked  his  horse  at  a  point  where  a 
path  entered  the  main  road,  and  calling  Jim  to  his 
he  said,  impressively,  — 

"  Do  you  know,  Jim,  why  I  have  taken  you  with  me 
this  morning?  " 

"  Dono,  massa ;  'thout  "pears  like  its  kase  you  wanted 
company.  Dese  yer  woods  roads  is  lonesome,"  replied 
he,  with  an  embarrassed  grin. 

His  master  smiled  sadly  at  the  simple  vanity,  and  re- 
plied, "  Xo,  it  was  not  for  your  company,  valuable  as 
that  may  be,  but  because  I  believe  I  can  trust  you,  and 
I  have  something  important  for  you  to  do. 

The  boy's  eyes  shone  now,  not  with  vanity,  but  with 
an  honest  pride  in  this  praise,  which  was  in  truth  well 
deserved. 

"  Trust  me,  massa !  "  he  said,  ducking  his  head  with 
an  attempt  at  an  obeisance  ;  "  I'se  all  eyes  and  ears  'bout 
massa's  business." 

"Use  your  eyes,  then,  and  notice  the  path  Ave  take,  so 
that  you  could  find  it  again  without  any  mistake  ;  for  I 
may  want  you  to  come  this  Avay  alone." 

Colonel  Bell  rode  forward  as  he  said  this,  and  Jim 
dropped  into  his  place,  a  few  yards  behind.  They  went 
on,  over  level  and  hollow,  keeping  in  a  straight  line,  but 
not  adhering  closely  to  any  of  the  varying  paths  which 
crossed  their  track.  As  they  passed  any  conspicuous  ob- 
27* 


2j  ^  CASTE. 

ject,  a  fallen  or  broken  tree,  or  any  thing  else  which  would 
be  easily  recognized,  his  master  turned  a  little  and  pointed 
to  it,  and  Jim  stored  the  image  in  his  memory  for  future 
use.  At  length  they  reached  another  road,  which  seemed 
to  run  in  an  opposite  direction  from  the  one  they  had  left 
a  mile  behind.  Proceeding  more  rapidly  now  that  they 
were  clear  of  the  underbrush,  which  had  somewhat  im- 
peded their  progress,  they  soon  came  to  a  spot  where  the 
road  divided,  with  branches  going  in  opposite  directions, 
and  the  corner  thus  made  was  shaded  by  a  large  persim- 
mon tree,  now  loaded  with  fruit.  Beneath  this  tree  the 
colonel  paused,  and  as  the  boy  came  up,  he  said,  — 

"  Here,  Jim,  is  the  end  of  your  ride." 

Jim's  hitherto  beaming  face  assumed  an  expression  of 
blank  disappointment  ;  his  importance  seemed  to  have 
suddenly  collapsed  as  these  words  met  his  ear,  and 
staring  about,  he  answered,  a  little  sulkily,  — 

"  What  for  massa  want  to  fool  dis  chile  ?  Bring  him 
all  dis  way  to  get  dese  yer  'simmons.  Plenty  o'  dcm  nigh 
by  home." 

"  You  foolish  boy,  you  needn't  pout.  I  am  not  fooling 
you  :  I  have  very  grave  business  in  hand,  and  I  brought 
you  here  because  I  have  tried  you,  and  I  find  you  can 
keep  a  secret,  without  asking  any  questions  about  it ; 
and  I  don't  know  another  felloAv  in  the  place  that  can." 

Thus  restored  to  his  self-conceit,  Jim's  eyes  and  ears 
Avcre  on  the  alert  to  know  what  would  come  next,  and 
ho  said,  humbly,  — 


IXSTKUCTIOXS.  319 

"  Pardon,  massa  !  I  know  Fse  fool ;  but  I'se  been 
'spectin'  all  along  we  was  comin'  to  somewhere." 

"  And  you  call  this   nowhere  ?  " 

"  Dis  yer,  dis  am  ony  out  in  de  woods,  massa ;  I  don't 
see  nothin'  else  ;  "  and  he  looked  curiously  around,  for 
something  in  his  master's  manner  aroused  his  attention. 

"  Exactly ;  we  are  in  the  woods,  and  this  is  all  you 
will  see.  You  remember  I  told  you  I  selected  you  for 
this  affair,  because  I  didn't  want  any  questions  asked."' 

"  Yes,  massa,"  Jim  replied,  beginning  to  comprehend 
the  significance  of  the  compliments  he  had  received. 

"  Listen,  then,  to  what  I  say ;  and  imderstand  you  are 
not  to  tell  of  it  to  any  living  being,  either  now  or  here- 
after, and  you  are  not  to  seek  to  find  out  any  more  than 
I  choose  to  tell  you.  If  you  are  careful,  and  follow  my 
directions  faithfully,  I  will  reward  you  so  that  you  will 
have  cause  to  remember  it  all  your  life." 

"  Massa  needn't  be  scare  'bout  dis  chile  bein'  faithful," 
said  Jim,  earnestly.  "  Dey  won't  get  it  out  o'  me  —  no, 
not  if  miss  tell  me  she  cut  my  tongue  out  if  I  don't." 

"  Did  she  ever  tell  you  that  ?  "  asked  the  colonel, 
sternly.  • 

"  Yes,  massa,  yest'day ;  'bout  dat  ar'  letter ;  but  I  didn't 
tell  nothin'."  » 

Colonel  Bell  sat  pale  and  thoughtful  for  some  time,  be- 
fore he  spoke  again.  Arousing  himself  at  last,  he  con- 
tinued his  directions. 


320  CASTE. 

"  You  see  this  tree,  and  you  have  noticed  the  way  we 
came  here.     Could  you  come  again  alone  ?  " 

"  O,  yes,  massa  —  easy." 

The  colonel  took  from  his  vest  pocket  a  three-cornered 
piece  of  paper,  sealed  and  directed  to  himself,  and  gave  it 
to  the  boy. 

"  Take  this,"  he  said,  "  and  when  you  get  home,  put  it 
in  a  place  where  no  one  can  find  it  but  yourself.  Those 
ladies  who  are  visiting  your  mistress  will  remain,  I  hear, 
imtil  next  Monday.  If  I  come  home  before  that  time, 
you  will  have  nothing  further  to  do  ;  but  if  I  am  still  ab- 
sent after  they  leave,  you  must  watch  your  mistress " 

"Ki!  won't  I?  "  exclaimed  Jim,  to  whom  this  business 
was,  for  various  reasons,  quite  agreeable. 

Without  heeding  the  interruption.  Colonel  Bell  went  on. 

"  The  first  time  she  goes  out  alone  to  visit  her  mother, 
and  you  are  certain  she  intends  being  gone  from  home 
more  than  three  hours,  you  take  this  note  I  have  given 
you,  and  come  as  fast  as  possible  to  this  place.  Here  you 
will  find  a  person  on  horseback.  You  must  say  to  him, 
'  Are  you  waiting  for  any  thing  ?  '  and  if  he  answers, 
'  Yes,'  you  may  give  him  the  aote,  and  then  go  home 
again.  This  is  all  you  have  to  do  —  except  to  control 
your  curiosity." 

By  this  time  Jim's  face  was  actually  distended  with 
inquisitive  amazement.  He  understood  what  was  required 
of  him,  but  the  mystery  in  which  Colonel  Bell  had  en- 
veloped this  little   plot  —  seeming   to   trust  him  with  a 


MYSTERY.  321 

matter  of  so  much  importance,  and  yet  telling  Mm  noth- 
ing that  could  give  him  the  least  insight  into  it  —  stimu- 
lated his  prpng  propensities  to  the  utmost  degree,  and 
his  master's  concluding  hint  could  hardly  restrain  the 
questions  tremblmg  on  his  tongue.  He  gulped  them 
dowTi,  however,  -ndth  a  choking  sound,  as  if  the  interro- 
gation points  stuck  in  his  throat,  and  answered,  submis- 
sively, — 

"  Yes,  massa  ;  but  how's  I  g^^iQe  diskiver  I  cotched  de 
right  feller  h'ere?  'Pears  like  mos'  any  nigger  settin' 
here  on  horseback  'ud  say  he's  waitin'." 

"I-s\ill  take  care  of  that,"  said  Colonel  Bell;  "you 
have  onlv  to  follow  my  directions,  and  I  will  assume  the 
responsibility  of  failure.  Are  you  sure  you  understand 
exactly  what  you  have  to  do  ?  " 

"  Yes,  massa,"  replied  Jim,  turning  the  tri-cornered 
paper  over  and  over  in  his  hand  ;  "  I'sc  to  bring  you  dis 
yer,  any  time  Miss  Clara  drives  out  artcr  de  company's 
gone." 

"  You  have  it  in  brief,"  said  the  colonel ;  and  ha^-ing 
repeated  his  commands,  'nith  additional  charges  to  faith- 
fulness and  secrecy,  he  dismissed  his  servant,  who  rode 
slowly  away,  often  looking  back  to  where  Colonel  Bell 
sat,  quiet  as  an  equestrian  statue,  beneath  the  persim- 
mon tree. 

When  he  had  been  some  time  out  of  sight.  Colonel 
Bell  left  the  spot,  and  pursuing  one  of  the  roads,  which 
seemed  old  and  but  little  travelled,  half  an  hour's  ride 


322  CASTE. 

brought  him  to  a  higli  brick  wall,  at  one  corner  of  which 
stood  a  small  and  unpretending  porter's  lodge,  beside  a 
carriage  door  securely  fastened.  These  were  all  which 
gave  evidence  of  human  habitation  in  that  vicinity ;  for 
no  house  or  plantation  was  visible  for  a  circuit  of  miles 
through  the  forest,  and  the  buildings  inside  the  wall  were 
completely  hidden  by  the  tall  trees  which  grew  around. 

It  was  a  pleasant,  yet  lonely  spot.  In  the  still  sun- 
shine, the  insects  hummed  and  chirped  ;  the  birds  darted 
fearlessly  about,  busy,  now  that  their  days  of  love  and 
song  were  over,  in  gormandizing  upon  ripe  fruits  and 
berries  ;  occasionally,  a  rabbit,  startled  by  some  sudden 
noise,  sprang  over  the  rustling  pine  leaves  carpeting  the 
sand,  to  find  a  new  hiding-place  ;  or  a  covey  of  partridges 
rose  whirring  in  their  lieavy  flight  to  the  low  oak  branches. 

Colonel  Bell  looked  thoughtfully  upon  the  beauty  and 
bounty  of  nature,  and  as  he  dismounted  from  his  horse, 
and  rang  the  bell,  he  sighed  to  think  how  it  contrasted 
with  the  gloomy  desolation  of  his  own  heart. 

He  was  obliged  to  wait  some  moments  before  the  door 
of  the  lodge  was  opened ;  and  then,  when  he  had  made 
the  necessary  inquiries,  and  given  his  card  to  the  servant, 
he  was  invited  to  enter  and  be  seated  for  a  little  while  ; 
and  the  door  communicating  with  the  grounds  shut  with 
a  spring  lock  behind  the  man,  as  he  passed  through  to 
deliver  the  message. 

Soon  he  returned,  accompanied  by  a  middle-aged  gen- 
tleman, whose  erect  figure,  and  placid,  benevolent  countc- 


A     LODGE     IN     THE     WILDEKNESS.  323 

nance,  at  once  spoke  kindness  and  dignity.  At  first 
one  would  have  noticed  only  the  gentle  and  amiable  ex- 
pression of  his  face ;  but  a  closer  examination  revealed 
lines  of  power  and  firmness  around  the  lips,  and  an  irre- 
sistible magnetism  in  the  gaze  of  tlie  full,  dark  eyes. 

Now,  however,  those  eyes  expressed  only  welcome,  and 
a  slight  surprise,  which  deepened  into  anxiety,  as  he  no- 
ticed the  worn  and  dejected  aspect  wherewith  Colonel 
Bell  arose  to  meet  him.  They  M'ere  evidently  old  friends, 
for  a  cordial  greeting  took  place,  and  then  the  new  comer 
said,  — 

"  You  may  have  wondered  at  being  compelled  to  remain 
here  until  your  card  could  be  sent  to  me  ;  but  it  is  against 
our  rules  to  allow  any  one  to  pass  this  inner  door  without 
my  permission,  and  we  are  obliged  to  be  impartial  in  en- 
forcing the  order." 

"I  suppose  so.  I  remember  I  waited  here  once  before 
to  see  you,  some  years  ago.  How  I  pitied  you  then  for 
the  life  you  had  chosen ;  and  yet  this  isolation  from  the 
world  cannot  have  been  so  irksome  as  I  supposed,  for  you 
have  changed  very  little.  I  have  more  '  crows'  feet ' 
than  you,  my  dear  doctor." 

The  two  gentlemen  stood  looking  at  each  other  for  a 
minute,  and  then  the  doctor  replied,  with  a  thoughtful 
smile,  — 

"  I  cannot  believe  it  is  ten  years  since  I  last  saw  you. 
Isolated  as  we  are  here,  you  perceive  we  have  not  been 
driven  to   conjugating  the  verb  s'ennuyer,  for  time  has 


324  CASTE. 

sped  so  swiftly,  it  seems  but  yesterday  since  I  parted  with 
you  on  this  spot  —  I  to  return  to  the  absorbing  duties  of 
my  profession,  and  you  to  roam  over  the  world  after 
pleasure,  with  your  bride,  the  beautiful  Clara  Avenel. 
lleally  I  have  been  very  ungallant  not  to  have  inquired 
for  her.     I  hope  she  is  well." 

"  It  is  of  her  I  came  to  speak  Avith  you.  Can  I  see  you 
in  private  ? " 

An  expression  so  fierce  and  painful  appeared  on  the 
colonel's  features  as  he  uttered  these  words,  that  his 
friend,  growing  alarmed,  hastened  to  lead  him  into  the 
park,  where  a  small  office  stood  a  few  rods  distant  from 
the  gate ;  into  which  they  entered,  and,  closing  the  door, 
remained  an  hour  in  conversation. 

When  they  appeared  again,  both  wore  a  meditative  air, 
and  Colonel  Bell  was  much  agitated.  Pausing  on  the 
doorstep,  the  doctor  said,  as  if  in  reply  to  some  question,  — 

"  No,  I  do  not  think  it  imjust,  and  though  severe,  it  is 
perhaps  the  best  thing  left  for  you  now.  Faithless! 
Malicious !  My  poor  friend,  you  must  allow  me  to  pity 
you !  " 

"  You  may  well  do  so,"  replied  he.  "  On  all  God's 
earth  there  walks  not  a  more  miserable  man  than  myself. 
Truly, 

'  Our  pleasant  vices  are  made  whips  to  scourge  us ; ' 

and  no   matter  how  long  we  may  skulk  the  flogging,  it 


THE     PLAN.  325 

must  come  at  last.     I  begin  to  believe  in  Shakspeare  — 
and  the  Catecbism." 

A  j)ause  ensued,  during  wbich  they  walked  to  the  en- 
trance of  tbe  lodge.    As  they  reached  it,  the  doctor  said,  — 

"  This  conversation  was  of  course  necessary  ;  but  I  must 
forget  it  from  the  moment  she  enters  here,  and  regard  her 
only  as  a  singular  case  of  monomania;  and  seriously,"  he 
added,  "  I  am  not  certain  that  a  mind  so  warped  and  dis- 
torted can  be  called  perfectly  sane.  There  is  '  method  in 
the  madness,'  to  be  sure,  but  it  is  hard  to  tell  where  lies 
the  dividing  line  beyond  which  reason  reels.  You  mil 
be  here  again  on  Monday  ?  " 

"  I  will ;  and  I  think  it  will  not  be  many  days  before 
we  receive  the  message  I  spoke  of.  I  preferred  the  plan  I 
have  detailed,  as  I  think  it  will  accomplish  our  object 
with  less  difficulty  than  any  other ;  and  also  because  I 
wish  to  keep  the  matter  quiet,  and  to  have  none  of  my 
servants  discover  their  mistress's  retreat,  for  a  few  weeks, 
lest  some  rumor  should  reach  Mrs.  Avenel  before  I  have 
time  to  prepare  her  to  realize  that  her  daughter  is  — 
insane." 

"  That  is  important,  and  I  agree  with  you  in  wishing 
to  keep  as  quiet  as  possible  about  this  affair.  It  may  bo 
right  for  a  man  to  do  certain  things,  which  it  would  not 
be  wise  for  him  to  talk  about." 

"  I  think  I  can  satisfy  the  few  inquiries  that  will  be 
made,"  said  Colonel  Bell,  "and  I  have  no   scruples  of 
28 


326  CASTE. 

conscience  on  this  point.  Punisliment  for  wrong  doing 
and  prevention  of  further  evil  cannot  be  a  sin,  for  it  is 
part  of  the  economy  of  religion  and  nature.  I  have  not 
told  you  —  I  cannot  tell  you  —  half  she  has  done  to  move 
me  to  this  step.  But  I  am  trespassing  upon  your  time, 
and  I  will  take  my  leave  ;  I  shall  return  in  a  few  days." 

They  opened  the  door  and  went  into  the  lodge,  and  as 
its  lock  clicked  in  shutting,  the  colonel  added,  with  a 
grim  smile,  — 

"  You  have  things  arranged  very  securely  here." 
"  '  Eternal  vigilance  is   the  price  of  —  security,"  re- 
plied his  friend. 

"  But  not  of  liberty,  in  this  instance,"  rejoined  the 
colonel,  as  he  sprang  into  the  saddle.  "  Farewell ;  per- 
haps you  may  have  me  for  a  patient  one  of  these  days." 

"  I  should  much  prefer  receiving  you  as  a  guest,"  said 
the  doctor,  "  though,  when  you  have  remained  with  us  a 
few  days,  and  find  how  pleasantly  we  live,  I  don't  know 
but  you  will  envy  me  my  '  lodge  in  a  wilderness.'  " 

"  Nous  verro7is''  answered  Colonel  Bell,  and  with  a 
friendly  good  by  they  parted. 

The  colonel  retraced  his  steps  to  the  persimmon  tree, 
and  then  hesitated  which  route  to  pursue.  In  one  direc- 
tion the  road  led  towards  the  woodland  cottage,  and  he 
had  nearly  turned  his  horse's  head  that  way,  when  he 
checked  himself  with  a  heavy  sigh. 

"  Not  there  !  not  there  !  "  he  said  ;  "  I  will  not  pro- 
fane   Gorilla's    grave   with   the    warring    and   revengeful 


WAITING.  327 

passions  of  my  soul ;  "  and  as  he  spoke,  he  rode  slowly  in 
the  opposite  direction,  where,  some  ten  or  twelve  miles 
distant,  a  small  town  was  situated,  in  which  he  remained 
several  days. 


At  the  appointed  time  he  returned  to  the  doctor's 
lonely  retreat. 

As  they  met  again,  the  colonel  said,  inquiringly,  — 

"  You  have  sent  some  one,  as  I  desired  ?  " 

"  I  have  —  a  trusty  servant.  Did  you  not  see  him 
there  as  you  passed  ?     I  sent  him  some  hours  ago." 

"  I  saw  some  one,  and  supposed  he  might  be  from  here. 
Now,  then,  we  have  only  to  wait  the  course  of  events." 

"  And  meantime  I  must  show  you  my  house  and 
grounds,  my  family,  and  my  entomological  cabinet.  I 
have  some  rare  specimens,  I  assure  you." 

"  In  both  departments,  I  suppose,"  said  the  colonel, 
smiling.  "  So  you  amuse  yourself  by  studying  bugs  as 
well  as  brains." 

"And  find  both  very  interesting  and  exciting,"  replied 
the  doctor,  with  professional  ardor.  "  Colonel  Bell,  if  you 
had  been  a  poor  man,  and  obliged  to  work  for  a  living,  as 
I  did,  you  would  have  been  far  happier  than  you  now  are." 

"  If,  if —  What  a  world  this  world  would  be  if  there 
were  no  ifs  in  it !"  said  the  colonel,  bitterly. 

While  they  had  been  talking,  they  walked  up  the  broad 
avenue  that  led  to  the  doctor's  house,  which  stood  a  few 
rods  from  the  hospital,  but  within  sight  and  hearing  of  its 


328 


inmates.  Colonel  Bell  Avas  introduced  to  the  doctor's 
Avife,  an  educated,  intelligent  lady,  as  much  interested  in 
the  study  of  mental  disease  as  if  she  had  received  diplo- 
mas from  half  a  dozen  medical  colleges.  During  the  two 
days  he  staid  with  them,  he  learned  the  secret  of  his 
friend's  contentment  in  his  hermitage,  and  as  had  been 
prophesied,  almost  came  to  envy  him  a  life  Avhich  was  far 
from  being  either  solitary  or  monotonous. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  third  day  of  his  A"isit,  the 
servant,  Avho  had  been  sent  to  wait  at  the  persimmon  tree, 
made  his  appearance,  bearing  the  three-cornered  note. 
Colonel  Bell  and  the  doctor,  who  Avere  amusing  them- 
selves Avith  chess,  looked  at  each  other  in  silence  ;  and  it 
Avas  hard  to  tell  which  of  them  was  at  that  moment  the 
palest. 

"The  time  has  come,"  said  the  latter,  at  length.  "I 
Avill  go  and  order  the  carriage.  But  why  don't  you  read 
your  note  ?  " 

"  There  is  nothing  in  it  to  read.  I  used  it  simply  as  a 
token  Avhich  could  attract  no  particular  attention,  if  by 
any  accident  it  AA'as  lost,  and  yet  be  intelligible  to  me. 
But  Ave  must  lose  no  time  noAv.  Hoav  soon  can  you  be 
ready  ?  " 

"  Immediately.     Come  with  me." 

They  Avent  out  together ;  and  soon  after,  a  carriage,  Avith 
four  servants  .otitside,  drove  rapidly  doAvn  the  avenue, 
to  the  large  door  by  the  lodge,  Avhich  Avas  opened  for 
them  to  pass  out. 


MRS.     BELL     DOUBTS.  329 

"  What  is  the  distance  we  have  to  go  r  "  asked  Colonel 
Bell,  as  they  entered  the  road. 

"  From  here  to  the  point  where  we  intercept  the  road 
leading  from  your  house  to  Mrs.  Avenel's,  is  about  eight 
miles." 

"  And  yet  I  doubt  if  any  of  the  families  along  there 
think  you  are  so  near.  You  have  secreted  yourself  so 
entirely,  that,  although  every  body  knows  of  the  exist- 
ence of  your  retreat,  I  don't  remember  ever  hearing  it 
spoken  of." 

"  That  only  shows,"  said  the  doctor,  "  how  readily  our 
neighbors  will  forget  us,  if  they  have  no  opportunity  to 
make  use  of  us." 


Two  days  had  elapsed  since  Mrs.  Bell  bade  adieu  to 
her  guests,  and  the  uncertainty  which  hung  over  her  pros- 
pects for  the  future  added  not  a  little  to  her  present 
loneliness.  After  her  last  interview  with  her  husband, 
she  could  hardly  hope  for  a  continuance  of  the  friendli- 
ness that  for  a  few  weeks  had  existed  between  them  ;  but 
still  his  conduct  was  not  what  she  expected,  in  case  he 
discovered  how  wilfully  she  had  thwarted  him  ;  and 
knov/ing  how  irritable  he  was  when  disappointed  and  sor- 
rowful, she  tried  to  attribute  his  harshness  to  that  cause. 
At  first  she  wotdd  not  leave  the  house,  lest  he  shoidd 
return  in  her  absence  ;  but  growing  w^ki^of  watching, 
28*  ^ 


330 


and  having  some  curiosity  to  know  how  Mrs.  Warner 
would  appear,  and  what  Hubert  intended  to  do,  in  their 
unfortunate  circumstances,  she  determined,  on  the  morn- 
ing of  the  third  day,  to  take  an  early  dinner  and  spend 
the  afternoon  in  making  some  neighborly  visits. 

This  was  not  a  very  common  thing  with  her.  Her 
haughty  contempt  for  the  dull  domestic  life  which  satis- 
fied her  neighbors  had  been  so  openly  expressed,  and  her 
manner  was  so  arrogant,  that  she  was  very  generally  dis- 
liked, and  except  when  she  entertained  visitors  from  a 
distance,  she  was  left  mostly  unsought  in  the  wearisome 
solitude  of  her  splendid  home. 

Now,  as  she  came  forth,  richly  dressed,  to  take  her  seat 
in  the  emblazoned  carriage,  which  was  particularly  her 
own,  she  noticed,  without  further  thought,  that  her  hus- 
band's favorite  boy,  Jim,  stood  close  boside  the  door,  and 
looked  in  her  face  with  an  eager,  inquisitive  air. 

"  Drive  to  Mr.  AVarner's  place,  and  then  on  to  Mr. 
Blank's.  As  I  return  I  will  stop  at  the  Pines,''  she 
said  to  the  footman,  who  repeated  the  order  to  the  coach- 
man, and  the  carriage  darted  away  ;  but  before  it  had 
reached  the  end  of  the  avenue  leading  to  the  road,  Jim 
went  by  them  on  horseback,  galloping  at  headlong  speed. 

It  was  nearly  sunset  before  Clara  Bell  reached  her 
mother's  home.  They  had  not  seen  each  other  since  the 
day  of  Mrs.  Avenel's  return ;  and  now  she  met  her  daugh- 
ter in  an  embarrassed  and  agntated  manner,  that  could  not 


HOW     TO     PREVENT     SCANDAL.  331 

fail  to  attract  attention,  and  which,  instead  of  arousing 
sympathy,  seemed  to  chafe  Clara's  unamiablc  mood. 

"  Dear  me,  mother,"  she  said,  "how  fussy  am<  fidgety 
you  arc  growing  !  "  and  then,  half  ashamotl  of  llr^r  petu- 
lance, she  added,  with  a  careless  laugh,  "  What  in  the 
world  makes  you  look  so  dolorous  just  now  ?  " 

"  My  child,  I  thought  you  would  feel  sadly,  too.  I 
dreaded  to  see  you  after  this  expose,  which  has  made  so 
much  trouble  for  all  of  us,"  replied  her  mother,  with  gen- 
tle reproach. 

"  O,  bah  !  don't  begin  to  talk  of  that,"  said  Clara,  im- 
patiently ;  "  and  pray  be  a  vnse  woman,  and  don't  distress 
yourself  about  that  girl.  I  don't  see  why  every  body  is 
making  such  a  fuss  about  her.  If  she  had  been  all  she 
ever  pretended  to  be,  she  would  not  be  worth  the  shed- 
ding so  many  tears  as  I  see  you  have  been  pouring  forth  ; 
and  Mrs.  Warner  could  not  speak  of  her  this  afternoon 
for  weeping.  By  the  way,  why  didn't  she  stay  there  ? 
Why  should  she  come  here  to  bother  you  :  " 

"  Dear  Clara,  don't  talk  so.  I  can't  think  you  really 
have  no  sympathy  >^dth  Helen's  misfortunes.  She  is  no 
trouble  to  me,  and  I  am  glad  to  have  her  here." 

"  It  provokes  me,"  continued  Clara,  "  to  think  how 
easily  all  this  scandal  might  have  been  saved.  If  Colonel 
Bell  had  only  kept  these  children  at  home,  in  their  proper 
places,  as  servants,  they  would  have  been  happy,  and  no- 
body else  would  have  suffered.  But  he  must  needs  carry 
out  his  romantic  notions,  and  this  is  the  consequence." 


332 


"  Do  you  think  so  ? "  said  Mrs.  Avenel.  "  I  should  have 
said  the  painfuhiess  of  this  case  i^roceeded  from  quite 
anotherv-ause.  Certainly  you  cannot  blame  your  husband 
for  his  'generosity  and  kindness." 

"  I  do.  They  were  entirely  misplaced,  and  it  only 
shows,  that  it  is  of  no  use  to  try  to  raise  these  people 
out  of  the  position  they  were  intended  to  fill.  "When 
they  are  there  we  get  along  well  enough  ;  but  if  they 
are  any  thing  but  servants,  they  make  us  a  world  of 
trouble." 

"  I  do  not  think  so,"  said  her  mother  ;  "  and  even  if  it 
is  as  you  say,  can  you  think  we  are  placed  here,  Clara, 
simply  to  seek  our  own  selfish  interests  ?  What  would 
this  earth  become,  if  no  one  was  willing  to  make  any 
sacrifice  for  his  neighbor's  good  ? " 

"  There  are  precious  feyf  persons  who  attain  that  pitch 
of  perfection,. at  any  rate,"  replied  Clara,  "  and  I've  no 
desire  to  be  one  of  the  number.  Making  sacrifices  isn't 
my  forte,  and  I  advise  you  to  have  as  Uttle  as  possible  to 
do  with  the  business.  Leave  it  to  the  philanthropists, 
who  can't  make  themselves  famous  in  any  other  way,  and 
so  they  try  this  method.  It  don't  pay  for  private  indi- 
%dduals.  For  instance,  here  are  you,  looking  so  pale  and 
woe-begone  about  this  Helen,  that  it  almost  gives  me  the 
blues  to  stay  with  you.  Now,  if  you  would  only  exercise 
a  little  philosophy,  as  I  do,  it  wouldn't  affect  you  thus. 
"WTiat  is  the   use   of  fretting   about  the   misfortunes   of 


WHAT     DOES     IT     MEAN?  333 

another?  I'm  sure  Ave  all  have  enough  of  our  own  to 
make  us  old  and  wrinkled  before  our  thne." 

Deeply  pained  at  her  cold  and  flippant  manner  of  talk- 
ing, Mrs.  Avenel  changed  the  subject  of  conversation  by 
inquiring,  abruptly,  — 

"  Do  you  still  intend  embarking  for  Europe  on  the  day 
fixed  when  I  last  saw  you  ?  " 

"  I  can't  tell ;  I  haven't  seen  Colonel  Bell  since  last 
week,  and  he  is  so  capricious,  he  may  have  changed  his 
plans." 

"  Haven't  seen  Colonel  Bell !  "What  do  you  mean  ?  " 
said  Mrs.  Avenel,  opening  her  eyes  in  amazement. 

"  No.  He  has  been  absent  from  home  more  than  a 
week.     Why  are  you  so  surprised  ?  " 

"  Because  I  have  received  a  daily  note  from  him,  in- 
quiring for  Helen's  health." 

It  was  noAV  Clara's  turn  to  look  astonished ;  and  after 
a  moment's  thought,  she  answered,  — 

"  This  is  very  singular ;  he  certainly  has  not  been  at 
home  during  the  interval.  Did  you  notice  who  brought 
the  billet?  " 

"  I  have  never  happened  to  see  the  messenger,  as  I  sit 
with  Helqn  most  of  the  time.  He  must  be  in  the  neigh- 
borhood." 

"  Where  can  he  be  ?  I  never  knew  him  to  make  a 
neighborly  visit  before,  and  I  can't  see  his  object  in  doing 
so  now  ;  neither  can  I  imagine  which  of  our  acquaintance 
ho  is  visiting." 


334  CASTE. 

Clara  spoke  slowly  and  thoughtfully,  and  sat  for  a  while 
in  deep  revery.  This  information  made  her  very  uneasy, 
and  as  she  recalled  her  last  interview  Avith  her  husband, 
a  vague  foreboding  of  evil  arose  in  her  breast,  and  would 
not  be  shaken  off,  although  she  tried  to  disguise  it  from 
her  mother. 

She  lingered  longer  than  usual,  and  talked  in  an  amia- 
ble and  pleasant  strain,  to  which  her  mother  afterwards 
looked  back  with  delight ;  and  when  she  bade  good  by, 
moved  by  an  unwonted  impulse  of  tenderness,  she  threw 
her  arms  around  Mrs.  Avenel's  neck,  and  kissed  her. 

This  simple  act,  so  rare  with  Clara,  called  forth  quick 
tears  of  joy  from  the  loving  heart  that  her  coldness  had  so 
often  chilled,  and  warmly  retui-ning  'the  caress,  her  mother 
said,  — 

"  O  my  child,  I  wish  we  could  live  together  ;  I  am  very 
lonely  here  sometimes." 

""Well,  if  Colonel  Bell  concludes  to  go  to  Europe  again 
without  me,  I  will  get  divorced,  and  come  here  to  live 
with  you,"  replied  Clara ;  and  with  another  kind  farewell, 
she  entered  the  carriajje. 


It  was  some  time  after  sunset,  and  quite  dark  in  the 
woods,  but  in  the  level,  open  spaces,  there  was  yet  suffi- 
cient light  to  distinguish  objects  at  some  distance.  Colo- 
nel Bell  and  the  doctor  had  been  walking  to  and  fro,  as 
they  waited  beside  the  intersection  of  the  two  roads,  their 


THE     PLOT     THICKEXS.  335 

carriage  hidden  by  the  trees,  a  few  rods  away,  while  they 
gazed  eagerly  in  the  direction  leading  to  Mrs.  Avenel's 
house. 

"  What  if  she  had  returned  before  we  reached  here  ?  " 
said  the  doctor,  after  a  long  pause. 

"  We  will  wait  here  a  reasonable  time,  and  make  siire 
that  is  the  case,  and  then  we  wUl  drive  on  to  my  house. 
Some  stratagem  can  be  deA^ised  to  meet  that  emergency. 
I  Avished  to  save  her  the  mortification  of  having  to  call  on 
the  servants  to  aid  her  against  me,  or  of  having  them 
know  she  went  with  us  unwillingly.  If  she  has  not  re- 
tui-ned,  this  delay  is  favorable,  since  in  the  darkness  she 
will  not  so  easily  discover  where  we  are  taking  her." 

"  May  she  not  have  taken  some  other  path  homeward  ?  " 

"  I  think  not.  She  likes  to  drive  rapidly,  and  this  is 
the  best  road.     Look  !  I  think  I  see  the  carriage  now." 

It  came  swiftly  along,  and  as  it  approached.  Colonel 
Bell  placed  himself  in  its  course,  so  as  to  attract  the 
coachman's  attention,  who  checked  his  horses  upon  recog- 
nizing him.  ]\Ieantime  the  doctor  had  stepped  into  the 
shelter  of  the  bushes  by  the  roadside,  from  whence  he 
reappeared,  at  the  right  moment,  Anth  two  stalwart  men. 

Colonel  Bell,  going  close  to  the  coachman,  commanded 
him  in  a  low  voice  to  descend  from  his  seat ;  and  he  in- 
stantly obeyed,  full  of  wonder  at  meeting  his  master  thus, 
which  he  was  prevented  from  expressing  by  a  peremptory 
order  to  call  the  footman,  and  tell  him  to  come  and  help 
him  a  minute.     He  called  as  directed,  for  it  was  not  the 


336  CASTE, 

first  time  lie  had  received  orders  he  did  not  comprehend, 
and  the  colonel,  who  was  an  indulgent  master,  was  much 
beloved  by  his  servants. 

Hearing  his  voice,  Mrs.  Bell  put  her  head  out  of  the 
windoM'  to  know  what  was  the  matter.  When  she  saw 
her  husband,  she  uttered  an  exclamation  of  surprise,  and 
almost  of  alarm. 

"  Open  the  door  for  me,"  said  Colonel  Bell,  in  a  sub- 
dued tone,  to  the  footman,  "  and  then  both  of  you  stand 
aside,  and  remain  here  until  I  return.  Do  you  under- 
stand ?  " 

«  Yes,  massa,"  they  said  at  once,  staring  at  him  and  at 
each  other  with  the  utmost  perplexity. 

"  Come  here  instantly,  Robert ;  tell  me  what  is  the 
matter,"  said  Mrs.  Bell,  sharply  and  loudly. 

The  footman  obeyed,  and,  as  he  opened  the  door,  Colo- 
nel Bell  entered,  and  without  giving  time  to  reply  to  her 
questions,  said,  coolly,  as  if  he  met  her  after  a  few  hours' 
absence,  "  An  accident  has  left  my  friend  and  myself  on 
foot  here  in  the  woods.  You  will  please  allow  us  the 
privilege  of  a  drive  home  in  your  carriage." 

Those  words  the  footman  heard,  and  then,  in  one  con- 
fused moment,  he  felt  himself  thrust  aside ;  another  gen- 
tleman entered  the  carriage  after  his  master,  and  closed  the 
door  ;  a  servant  sprang  into  his  place  behind,  and  a  strange 
coachman  mounted  the  box,  seized  whip  and  reins,  and, 
whirling  the  horses  into  the  cross  road,  disappeared  with 
the  whole  equipage,  leaving  him  and  his  fellow-servant, 


WHITHER?  337 

bewildered  and  half  frigh.tened,  to  conjecture  what  these 
strange  proceedings  might  mean. 

All  had  been  done  so  rapidly  that  the}-  did  not  think 
of  following  until  it  was  too  late  ;  and  seeing  no  speedier 
way  of  satisfying  their  curiosity,  they  concluded  to  wait 
their  master's  return,  as  he  had  ordered.  Stretching 
themselves  under  the  bushes,  they  were  soon  fast  asleep. 

Mrs.  Bell  was  not  less  confounded  than  her  servants  at 
this  sudden  change.  For  a  short  time  she  could  not 
speak,  and  the  undefined  fear  of  which  she  had  been  con- 
scious from  the  minute  she  heard  her  husband  was  in  the 
vicinity,  increased  to  terror,  as  she  saw  by  the  deepening 
shadows  that  they  had  left  the  highway,  and  were  pro- 
ceeding in  an  opposite  direction.  She  could  not  see  the 
faces  of  her  companions ;  but  their  silence  was  ominous, 
and  convinced  her  that  the  excuse  they  had  given  for  en- 
tering the  carriage  was  a  ruse  to  place  her  more  com- 
pletely in  the  power  of  the  man  she  had  so  repeatedly 
exasperated. 

She  called  wildly  to  the  driver  to  stop,  and  perceiving 
she  was  utterly  unheeded,  she  tried  to  open  the  door  and 
spring  out.  But  her  hands  were  seized  with  a  grasp  of 
iron,  which  forced  her  back  into  her  seat,  and  Colonel 
Bell  said,  in  a  voice  terribly  calm  and  stern,  — 

"  Why  are  you  so  excited?     What  do  you  fear  ?  " 

"  Order  the  carriage  stopped,  if  you  mean  no  harm 
to  me.  "Why  do  not  my  servants  obey  me  ?  What  right 
29 


338  CASTE. 

have  you  to  give  them  orders  ?  "  she  replied,  trembling, 
yet  courageous. 

"  You  asked  me  once,  '  Why  should  I  seek  to  harm 
you  ?  '  I  repeat  the  question  to  you,"  said  the  colonel, 
bitterly.  "  Madam,  beware  !  Your  guilty  fears  betray 
you." 

"  Where  am  I  going  ?  "  she  exclaimed  ;  and  again  she 
screamed  to  the  servants  to  stop ;  but  her  cries  came  back 
with  a  mocking  echo,  and  the  swift  motion  continued. 

"It  is  useless  to  call ;  your  servants  are  far  behind. 
We  have  another  coachman  now,"  said  her  husband,  and 
we  shall  not  stop  until  we  arrive  at  the  house  of  my 
friend." 

"  Who  is  he  ?  Why  have  you  not  introduced  him  to 
me  ?  " 

"You  will  know  soon  enough.  Do  not  fear.  No 
harm  is  intended,  and  you  are  going  where  you  will  be 
safe,  and  can  be  happy,  if  you  will." 

He  still  held  her  hands,  and  finding  she  could  not  re- 
lease herself,  she  scorned  to  struggle,  or  make  any  plea 
for  pity.  Hers  was  no  weak  spirit,  to  be  broken  with 
the  first  bloAV,  and  she  had  not  braved  him  so  often  to 
consider  all  as  lost  because  of  this  apparent  triumph. 
She  knew  he  dared  not  take  away  her  life,  even  if  he 
wished,  and  she  trusted  that  her  servants  would  raise  tho 
alarm,  and  her  mother  would  seek  her  out,  in  whatever 
place  of  concealment  her  husband  had  provided.  A  thou  - 
sand  thoughts  and  schemes  flashed  like  lightning  through 


MRS.     BELL     WILL     XOT     ALIGHT.  339 

her  brain,  as  she  sat  silently  beside  bim,  and  the  doctor 
could  not  help  admiring  the  dignity  and  self-possession 
with  which  she  controlled  all  further  expression  of  her 
apprehension. 

The  lodge  was  reached  at  length ;  the  gate  opened ;  they 
droA-e  up  the  avenue,  and  paused  before  a  large  building. 
Colonel  Bell  sprang  out  first,  and  held  the  door  open 
for  his  wife  to  descend.  An  immense  lantern  hung  over 
the  entrance  to  the  building,  and  a  servant  stood  near 
with  a  candle,  by  the  light  of  which  she  could  scrutinize 
the  faces  near  her.  Her  o\vn  became  more  colorless  than 
before,  as  she  met  her  husband's  gaze,  and  drawing  back 
a  little  she  motioned  to  the  doctor  to  pass  out. 

"I  await  your  movements,  madam,"  he  replied,  with 
great  politeness. 

"  I  shall  not  leave  the  carriage,"  she  said,  quietly,  but 
firmly. 

"  I  beg  you  will.  It  will  be  very  unpleasant  for  us  all 
if  we  are  obliged  to  use  force,"  he  answered,  gently. 

"  You  vnli  not  dare  use  force  —  I  am  a  lady,"  she  said. 

"  There  are  several  ladies  here,  and  they  were  quite  un- 
willing to  enter,"  the  doctor  answered,  in  the  same  soft, 
pleasant  voice. 

"  Were  they  compelled  to  come  ?  "  she  asked,  quickly. 

"  They  are  here,"  was  the  reply. 

Clara  looked  around  her.  The  night  was  dark,  and  the 
light  of  the  lantern  illirniined  only  a  small  portion  of  the 
building.     Though  she  had  never  seen  it,  —  for  visitors 


340 


were  not  admitted  here,  —  she  began  to  have  some  idea  of 
its  locality,  and  the  purpose  for  which  it  was  used,  for 
she  had  often  heard  of  its  existence.  It  required  all  her 
strength  of  mind  to  keep  from  bursting  into  tears  and 
crying  out  for  help  ;  but  she  could  not  endure  to  give  her 
husband  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  her  thus  humbled. 
Turning  to  the  doctor  she  said,  proudly,  — 

"  You  will  tell  me,  at  least,  where  I  am." 

"  With  pleasure,  madam,"  he  answered,  kindly.  "  This 
is  the  Glen  Retreat,  where  I  hope  you  will  find  much  to 
interest  you." 

"  And  you  are  Dr.  Monteith  ?  " 

"  I  am :  shall  I  have  the  pleasure  of  assisting  you 
from  the  carriage  ?  " 

"  I  have  told  you  I  shall  not  leave  it,  doctor.  I  am 
sure  you  are  a  gentleman,  and  I  appeal  to  you  for  protec- 
tion against  the  cruelty  of  that  man,"  —  pointing  to 
Colonel  Bell.  "  If  he  has  said  any  thing  to  make  you 
think  I  am  a  fit  subject  for  this  institution,  he  has  lied  ; 
and  I  entreat  you,  by  your  honor,  not  to  detain  me  here 
against  my  will." 

"  Certainly  not,  madam.  How  could  you  suspect  me 
of  such  a  desire.  Only  have  the  goodness  to  come  in 
and  take  tea  with  us,  after  this  long  drive." 

His  smiling,  unmoved  face  was  more  hopeless  to  look 
upon  than  even  that  of  her  husband  —  lowering  and  stern 
with  its  burning,  angry  eyes.  She  sank  back  in  a  dark 
corner  of  the  coach,  and  for  a  while  no  one  spoke. 


SHE     CHANGES     HER     MIND.  341 

"  Come,  Clara,"  said  her  husband,  presently,  "  we  have 
waited  long  enough." 

"  I  •\^ill  not  come,"  she  cried,  vehemently ;  "  I  will 
never  enter  those  Avails." 

"As  you  please,"  he  said,  gloomily;  "I  would  have 
saved  you  this  indignity." 

He  stepped  aside,  and  three  strong  men  appeared,  one 
of  whom  had  a  straight  jacket  in  his  hand.  Clara  glanced 
at  them,  and  exclaimed,  as  she  grasped  the  doctor's  arm, 
with  a  shudder,  "  Don't  let  them  touch  me  —  doctor,  you 
cannot —  it  is  too  shameful." 

"  Certainly  not ;  there  is  no  need  of  it.  You  will  allow 
me  the  pleasure  of  leading  you  into  the  house,"  he  replied, 
in  those  bland  tones  which  seemed  to  indicate  entire  un- 
consciousness of  any  attempt  at  coercion.  As  he  spoke 
he  waved  his  hand,  and  the  men  vanished,  while  her  hus- 
band resumed  his  place  by  the  carriage  door. 

She  now  saw  that  resistance  was  indeed  vain ;  and  since, 
for  the  present,  she  must  submit,  she  resolved  to  do  it  in 
such  a  way  as  would  convince  the  doctor  that  he  had  been 
imposed  upon,  if  he  had  been  made  to  believe  she  was 
insane.  Addressing  him  with  a  calmness  and  dignity 
that  touched  him,  notwithstanding  his  prepossessions 
against  her,  she  said,  — 

"  From  the  high  praises  I  have  heard  of  yourself  and 
your  institution,  I  cannot  suppose  you  would  aid  a  scheme 
so  nefarious  as  this,  and  I  know  you  must  have  been 
29* 


342  CASXE. 

deceived  by  Colonel  Bell.  He  hates  me,  and  has  even 
threatened  my  life.  Is  it  not  so  ?  Did  you  not  expect 
to  see  a  mad  woman,  and  don't  you  see  how  calm  I  am?" 

"  My  dear  lady,  don't  obiige  me  to  take  part  in  a  family 
quarrel,"'  said  the  doctor,  deprecatingly ;  "  and  pray  excuse 
me  if  I  remind  you  again  that  supper  is  waiting.'  I  am 
sure  you  must  be  hungry." 

Her  features  quivered  with  a  spasm  of  despairing  dread 
as  she  turned  from  him ;  but  collecting  all  her  strength, 
she  composed  them  again,  and  slowly  stepping  to  the 
ground,  Avith  the  haughty  grace  of  an  empress,  she  al- 
lowed the  doctor  to  lead  her  up  the  steps.  As  she  passed 
her  husband  she  said,  half  aloud,  — 

"I  Avill  see  you  once  more,  sir,  where  justice  shall  be 
done  me." 

"  It  is  for  that  you  are  here,"  he  answered ;  "  to  receive 
justice.     My  face  you  will  never  see  again." 

She  started  and  trembled  violently,  for  something  in 
those  cold,  sinister  tones  made  her  feel  as  if  she  was  en- 
tering a  door  which,  like  the  gate  of  Dante's  Infemo, 
excluded  hope. 

But  without  another  word  she  went  on,  and  disap- 
peared within  the  hall. 

His  gaze  followed  her  xintU  the  door  was  closed,  and 
then  he  threw  himself  into  the  carriage,  saying  to  the 
coachman,  — 

"  Drive  back  as  fast  as  you  can." 


WHAT     ROBERT     THINKS.  343 

"But  de  horses,  massa  —  'pears  like  dey  won't  stand 
it  no  way.     Dey  come  like  streak  ob  lightnin'." 

"  Let  them  go  home  the  same  way,  then,"  was  the 
reply.  As  they  passed  out  the  gate  they  met  the  doctor's 
carriage,  which  had  just  returned.  When  they  reached 
the  place  where  he  left  his  own  servants,  he  signed  for 
the  carriage  to  pause,  and  called  their  names,  loudly, 
hardly  expecting  any  reply  ;  but  the  sound  aroused  them 
from  their  sleep,  and  greatly  to  his  satisfaction  they  came 
crawling  out  from  their  leafy  lair.  He  then  dismissed  the 
doctor's  coachman,  liberally  rewarding  him  for  his  ser- 
vices, and  reinstating  his  own  driver,  bade  him  proceed 
homeward. 

When  he  arrived  at  his  own  house,  the  servants  were 
astonished  to  see  that  he  was  alone,  and  Robert  and  his 
companion  exchanged  significant  glances,  which  told  of 
surmises  too  frightful  to  mention.  The  colonel  noticed 
them,  and  assuming  a  carelessness  and  ease  of  manner  he 
was  far  from  feeling,  he  said,  — 

"  Did  you  think  I  was  a  great  while  gone  this  evening, 
boys  ?  I  hardly  expected  to  find  you  there,  on  my  re- 
turn ;  but  as  you  did  so  well  I  must  give  you  something 
to  pay  you  for  it,  and  when  your  mistress  comes  home 
she  will  give  you  more,  perhaps.  I  left  her  at  a  large 
party,  and  hardly  think  she  will  return  to-night.  If  she 
don't,  I  shall  call  for  her  to-morrow.  So  go,  and  be  sure 
the  horses  are  well  taken  care  of,  for  they  have  had  a 
hard  drive." 


344  CASIE. 

The  negroes  took  the  money,  with  tokens  of  satisfac- 
tion; but  as  their  master  went  into  the  house,  they 
pointed  at  him  slyly,  and  with  a  wise  shake  of  the  head, 
Robert  said, — 

"  Keep  de  eye  open,  Sambo,  for  all  dat.  Somep'n 
powerful  queer  'bout  dis  yer." 


CHAPTER    EIGHTEENTH. 


"  And  in  the  tumult  and  excess 
Of  act  and  passion  under  sun, 

We  sometimes  hear  — 0,  soft  and  far, 
As  silver  star  did  touch  with  star  — 

The  kiss  of  Peace  and  RighteouBnesg, 
Throufrh  all  things  that  are  done." 


"  Ding,  ding,  ting-a-ling-ting." 

It  was  the  last  sound  of  the  bell  which  announced  the 
close  of  recess,  in  the  academy  of  the  large  town  in  the 
interior  of  New  York,  where  Edgar  Avenel  had  made  him- 
self a  home.  As  the  tintinnabulation  ceased,  the  urchins, 
great  and  small,  came  trooping  from  every  part  of  the 
play  ground,  and  pouring  in  at  the  open  door ;  some  with 
suddenly  thoughtful  brow,  as  if  taking  back  the  care  of 
studies  a  while  forgotten,  and  some  with  half-suppressed 
shouts,  or  -svith  a  leap,  a  tossing  of  caps,  or  a  hurried 
prank,  that  seemed  to  serve  as  a  vent  for  the  steam  which 
must  escape,  before  the  valves  of  the  intellectual  machine 
could  safely  be  shut  down  for  the  afternoon's  work. 

Two  or  three  of  the  older  boys  had  been  standing  near 
the  door ;  and  as  they  turned  leisurely  to  enter  the  build- 
ing, some  of  the  younger  ones  brushed  past  them,  and 
crowded  into  the  hall  in  breathless  glee.     Among  these 

(3-16) 


346 


was  a  handsome,  well-dressed,  bright-looking  mulatto 
boy,  who,  happening  to  be  the  last  of  the  group,  and 
running  with  his  arm  locked  around  one  of  his  comrades, 
was  pushed  a  little  roughly  against  one  of  his  elders, 
who  stood  in  the  doorway.  The  boy  turned  with  a 
glance  of  apology;  but  his  smile  was  answered  by  a 
frowning  brow,  and  his  half-uttered  words  inteiTupted 
by  a  sudden  movement,  that  snatched  the  cap  from  his 
head,  and  sent  it  whizzing  far  away  into  the  street. 

"  Take  that,  you  nigger,  and  don't  be  crowding  before 
your  betters,  next  time." 

The  mulatto  boy  looked  at  him  an  instant,  and  invol- 
untarily his  fist  clinched,  and  half  raised  itself  to  avenge 
the  insult;  but  there  was  no  time  to  be  lost  then,  and 
he  darted  out  to  regain  his  property. 

"  That  was  too  bad,"  said  one  of  the  boys  who  stood 
by;  "now  he'll  be  late,  and  have  to  take  07ie." 

"  I  don't  care  how  many  marks  he  takes,"  replied  the 
first  boy,  sullenly  ;  "  he's  an  impudent  nigger." 

"  You  don't  like  it  because  he's  above  you,  I  guess," 
whispered  another,  laughing,  as  they  moved  on  to  the 
school  room. 

The  boys  had  all  been  seated,  and  the  first  class  was 
called,  when  the  mulatto  entered,  and  moved  with  quick 
step  to  his  place.  His  brow  was  flushed  and  his  flicc 
clouded  ;  and  when  he  sat  down  he  shaded  his  eyes  with 
his  clasped  hands,  and  bent  over  his  book,  to  hide  the  tears 
that  wordd  fill  his  eyes,  though  he  suffered  them  not  to 


TTKANNY    OF    CASTE.  347 

fall.  Again  and  again  he  tried  to  fix  Ids  mind  i  his 
lesson  and  to  calm  himself  enough  to  understand  ;  but 
the  painful  thoughts  stUl  asserted  their  power  in  &pite  of 
all  his  efibrts  to  forget,  and  he  was  thankful  that  his  reci- 
tations for  the  day  were  over,  for  he  knew  that  to  speak 
one  word  would  overcome  him  entirely.  When  school 
was  dismissed,  he  lingered  until  some  moments  after  all 
had  left  the  hall,  and  then,  gathering  his  books  together, 
he  slowly  followed  them.  He  did  not  look  up  as  he 
passed  the  desk  where  his  teacher  was  stUl  busy,  and 
when  he  took  down  his  cap  he  drew  it  over  his  brows, 
without  heeding  the  mud  that  covered  it,  and  crossing 
the  play-ground  rapidly,  had  nearly  reached  the  gate 
before  he  was  noticed  by  his  schoolfellows. 

"  My  eyes  !  what  a  looking  cap  !  "  cried  one. 

"  Hillo  !  Hen,  your  cap's  muddy,"  said  another,  good- 
naturedly. 

"  What  a  load  of  books  you  always  carry  home  !  you 
don't  catch  me  digging  that  way,  I  guess,"  said  a  third, 
mischievously  snatching  at  the  strap  which  bound  the 
books,  and  jerking  them  from  his  hand  as  he  passed. 

"Let  him  alone,"  said  another  boy,  who  sat  on  the 
fence,  whitling;  "let  him  alone  ;  he's  in  the  right  of  it 
to  study.  It  takes  considerable  lamin'  to  make  a  pro- 
fessor of  boot-blacking." 

The  words  were  spoken  with  a  boy's  thoughtless  love 
of  teasing ;  but  they  seemed  like  a  premeditated  taunt  to 
the  lacerated   spirit    already  smarting  with  a   sense  of 


348  CASTE. 

wToiig,  and  stooping  to  pick  up  his  books,  lie  swung 
them  round  his  head,  to  give  greater  impetus  to  the 
blow,  and  then,  with  flashing  eyes  and  an  inarticulate 
cry  of  vengeance,  he  sent  them  full  at  the  head  of  his 
tormentor.  The  boy  fell  senseless  from  the  fence;  but 
he  who  gave  the  blow  had  hurried  away  Avithout  pausing 
to  see  its  effects,  and  ran  towards  home  at  full  speed,  his 
heart  heaving,  and  a  hot,  stifling  sensation  in  his  throat 
that  nearly  stopped  his  breath.  He  reached,  at  length,  a 
large,  handsome  house,  situated  in  a  retired  street,  and 
surrounded  by  gardens.  This  was  Mr.  Avenel's  resi- 
dence, and  this  boy  was  an  orphan  W'ho  had  been  for 
some  years  under  his  care. 

Among  the  servants  left  him  by  his  mother  w'as  one 
whom  she  particularly  recommended  to  his  care,  on  ac- 
count of  her  faithful  services  beside  the  bed  of  sickness 
and  death.  This  woman  refused  to  leave  him  when  he 
offered  to  locate  her  ijj  a  home  of  her  own,  and  came 
with  his  family  to  New  York  accompanied  by  her 
young  grandson,  the  only  relic  left  of  her  once  numer- 
ous family.  But  her  aged  frame  was  unable  to  with- 
stand the  inclemency  of  an  unusually  severe  winter, 
which  followed  their  removal.  A  sudden  cold  induced 
congestion  of  the  lungs,  and  she  died,  confiding  the  boy, 
for  whom  alone  she  wished  to  live,  to  the  care  of  those 
who  had  been  so  kind  to  her.  The  sensitive  orphan,  who 
had  been  thus  given  to  their  care,  became  very  dear  to 
them,   as  well  as  to  all  their  family;   and  when,  with 


A     GRATE     QUESTION.  349 

advancing  years,  his  health  grew  firm,  and  his  nature, 
ever  docile  and  affectionate,  began  to  develop  noble  traits 
of  character,  and  intellect  of  no  common  order,  it  became 
a  serious  question  how  he  should  be  treated,  and  what 
degree  of  education  he  should  receive.  The  plan  they 
adopted  was  one  that  involved  much  anxiety  and  labor. 
Neighbors  pronounced  it  Utopian  and  Quixotic,  and 
even  Mr.  Avenel  was  so  far  biased  by  early  prejudices 
that  he  gave  at  first  but  a  reluctant  consent  to  his 
wife's  entreaty,  and  prophesied  to  her  no  little  trouble 
in  the  result. 

But  she,  true  to  her  usual  unselfishness,  and  gentle 
as  she  was  firm,  won  him  at  last  to  a  hearty  cooperation 
with  her.  "  We  must  do  what  we  can  individually  to 
raise  this  down-trodden  race,"  she  had  said ;  "  else  how 
can  they  ever  attain  that  position  of  equality  to  which  we 
are  willing  to  accord  them  the  right,  when  they  have  the 
capacity  to  fill  it  ?  If  Henry  were  a  white  child,  thrown 
thus  upon  our  care,  we  should  not  thinlc  of  making  him  a 
servant,  or  even  of  giving  him  a  trade,  while  he  shows  such 
decided  marks  of  intellect,  that  the  highest  attainments 
seem  possible  to  him.  Why,  then,  should  his  color  make 
any  difference  in  o\rr  treatment  of  him  ?  "  And  thus  it 
was  decided  that  the  boy  should  be  sent  to  school,  and 
occupy  in  the  family  the  same  position  as  if  his  skin  were 
white  as  theirs.  Thus  situated,  and  treated  with  a  pro- 
tecting kindness  that  won  his  almost  adoring  gratitude 
30 


350  CASTE. 

and  love,  he  was,  during  his  earlier  years,  exposed  to 
very  little  annoyance  ;  but  his  protectors  were  too  Avise 
to  continue  this  care  too  far.  One  so  situated  must, 
in  the  present  state  of  society,  early  learn  to  "  endure 
hardness,"  or  he  will  be  good  for  nothing ;  and  soon 
after  his  tenth  birthday,  he  was  sent  to  the  public 
school,  and  left  to  the  discipline  of  character  acquired 
by  unreserved  contact  with  all  sorts  of  boys. 

Every  body  who  understands  the  prevailing  disposi- 
tion of  "  Young  America  "  may  imagine  the  nature  of 
Henry's  trials  after  this  change  in  his  life  ;  but  he  had 
been  so  educated,  and  was  himself  of  such  a  noble  and 
ingenuous  nature,  that  he  was  slow  to  learn  the  exact 
meaning  of  the  rudeness  to  which  he  was  sometimes 
subjected  ;  and  as  he  had  the  power  of  making  many 
friends  among  his  comrades,  and  was  a  great  favorite 
with  his  teacher,  it  took  him  some  time  to  discover  that  by 
all,  friend  as  well  as  foe,  he  was  considered  as  belonging 
to  an  inferior  grade  of  society,  from  which  no  personal 
merit  could  wholly  raise  him.  Then,  indeed,  the  "  iron 
entered  his  soul ;  "  and  though  he  had  each  week  become 
increasingly  unwilling  to  speak  of  his  wrongs,  Mrs.  Ave- 
nel  had  seen,  with  sad  forebodings,  that  he  brooded  over 
them  in  secret,  and  that  for  several  months  he  had  been 
growing  suspicious  and  excitable,  and  imbittered  against 
those  who  would  be  his  friends.  At  the  end  of  two 
years  he  had  been  promoted  to  the  academy,  with  high 
honors  and  many  praises ;  but  since   then  he  had  been 


THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  TEARS  BROKEN.   851 

often  more  gloomy  than  before,  and  it  was  painful  to 
see  how  that  cheerful  and  generous  nature  Avas  wearing 
away  beneath  the  irritability  caused  by  the  consciousness 
of  his  position.  He  had  often  come  from  school,  and  sat 
down  to  his  lessons  with  a  weary,  listless  manner,  which 
betrayed  a  secret  heaviness  of  heart,  that  hardly  yielded 
even  to  the  caresses  and  the  AAdnning  gayety  of  the  young 
children,  whom  he  regarded  with  an  enthusiastic  fondness 
passing  a  brother's  love. 

On  the  piazza  two  of  these  children  were  now  playing, 
who  clapped  their  hands  in  joyous  greeting,  and  ran 
towards  him  as  he  came  near ;  but  he  avoided  them,  and, 
entering  the  house,  passed  through  the  rooms  till  he  came 
to  a  small  library,  Avhere  a  lady  sat  by  the  window, 
reading. 

When  he  saw  her,  he  hesitated  a  moment,  half  turning 
back ;  but  she  looked  up,  and  the  expression  of  her  face 
seemed  to  dissipate  his  slight  accession  of  reserve  ;  for  he 
sprang  forward,  and  casting  himself  on  the  carpet  beside 
her,  covered  his  burning  face  with  his  hands,  and  rested 
them  on  her  knees,  trembling  all  over  with  emotion. 

Startled  and  surprised,  she  bent  over  him,  laying  her 
cool  hand  on  his  throbbing  temples,  and  exclaiming, 
"  Henry !  my  dear  boy  !  what  is  it  ?  What  has  hap- 
pened?" The  gentle,  pitying  tones  of  her  voice  broke 
down  the  last  barrier  of  self-restraint,  and  all  the  Ions- 
suppressed  anguish  and  passion  of  his  soul  burst  forth  in 
tears  and  sobs  that  were  almost  convulsive ;  while  to  her 


352  CASTE. 

repeated  inquiries  he  ans^Yered,  at  length,  only  with  \Yild 
cries  and  incoherent  murmurs. 

Mrs.  Avenel's  eyes  filled  with  tears  of  painful  sympa- 
thy ;  but  she  was  not  wholly  unprepared  for  this  explosion 
of  feeling.  Through  many  months  she  had  been  noticing 
the  gathering  of  this  stomi  over  the  mental  horizon  which 
her  watchful  love  had  for  so  long  a  time  kept  free  from 
clouds.  And  now,  she  bent  over  him,  listening  to  that 
exceeding  passionate  and  bitter  cry,  "I  can't  bear  it  —  I 
can't !  I  wish  I  was  dead !  I  wish  I  had  never  been 
born !  I  would  lie  down  this  minute,  and  have  every  bit 
of  skin  taken  off,  if  it  would  only  make  me  white." 

How  could  she  comfort  him  ?  Her  own  heart  was 
swelling  with  pity  and  indignation,  but  her  power  to  calm 
and  soothe  him  seemed  failing  her.  He  moved  restlessly 
beneath  the  gentle  pressure  of  her  hand,  and  at  length 
threw  himself  down  on  the  carpet,  exclaiming,  "  Why 
don't  you  let  me  go  away  and  be  a  shoe-black  or  a  chim- 
ney-sweep ?  That's  all  I'm  fit  for  !  "Why  didn't  you 
bring  me  up  to  be  a  servant  ?  ^^^hy  didn't  you  leave  me 
in  the  country  where  I  was  born  ?  I  should  have  known 
my  place  then,  and  been  hapjDy." 

"  Henry,"'  said  Mrs.  Avenel,  in  a  low,  sad  tone,  "  could 
you  have  been  happy  as  a  slave  ?  " 

The  boy's  loud  cries  ceased  suddenly,  and  he  shuddered 
all  over.  He  could  seldom  bear  to  hear  this  subject  al- 
luded to,  and  Mrs.  Avenel  was  frightened  for  the  result 
of  the  words  that  had  escaped  her  almost  unconsciously 


CONSOLATION.  353 

She  sat  down  on  the  carpet  beside  him,  and  lifting  his 
head  in  her  lap,  tenderly  wiped  his  tear-wet  face.  "  O 
my  poor  boy,"  she  said,  "  I  pity  you  ;  yours  is  a  hard  lot ; 
I  have  long  dreaded  the  time  when  you  should  realize  all 
its  sorrow  ;  but,  Henry,  remember,  it  is  not  the  tcorst 
thing  that  might  have  been." 

Again  he  shuddered,  and,  throwing  his  arms  around  her, 
buried  his  face  in  her  dress  ;  but  the  sudden  shock  of 
her  first  words  had  calmed  him,  and  after  a  few  moments, 
he  said,  "  No,  no,  I  didn't  mean  that ;  I  was  ungrateful ; 
any  thing  is  better  than  that.  But  the  boys  are  always 
telling  me  I'm  out  of  my  place,  and  sometimes  I  think 
I    am." 

"  Your  place  is  the  highest  w^hich  yoii  have  the  capacity 
to  fill.  Why  shouldn't  you  aspire  as  high  as  any  body  ? 
Don't  you  thinlc  you  are  capable  of  any  greater  work  than 
blacking  shoes  ? "  she  added,  patting  his  cheek  playfully. 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  half  smiling  ;  "  sometimes  I  have 
such  grand  thoughts,  such  beautiful  thoughts  ;  I  can't  tell 
exactly  what  they  are,  but  my  mind  seems  full  of  them ; 
and  I  used  to  be  so  proud  to  think  what  I  would  be 
when  I  became  a  man  ;  but  now,"  he  added,  despondingly, 
"  I  can't  think  of  any  thing  but  the  ugly  speeches  tho 
boys  are  always  making,  and  the  way  they  treat  me. 
Even  when  they  seem  to  be  kind,  they  think  they're  con- 
descending, to  use  me  Avell.'" 

"  The  boys  are  very  unkind,  and  I  have  no  doubt  you 
30* 


354 


have  a  great  deal  to  bear,"  said  Mrs.  Avenel.  "  When 
you  were  younger,  I  used  to  tell  you  to  forget  it ;  but  now 
you  are  thirteen  years  old,  and  it  is  useless  for  you  to  shut 
your  eyes  to  the  trials  which  you  will  be  continually  meet- 
ing, in  one  form  or  another,  through  all  your  life.  We 
must  look  the  trouble  full  in  the  face,  and  seek  at  the 
right  sources  for  help  to  endure  it.  In  the  first  place,  we 
won't  think  we're  in  any  worse  case  than  we  really  are. 
All  the  boys  don't  abuse  you  ?  " 

"  O,  no,"  replied  Henry  ;  "  there's  only  two  or  three 
that  abuse  me,  —  that  seem  to  dislike  me,  I  mean,  —  and 
those  I  don't  care  for,  for  I  know  it  is  envy  because  I"m 
ahead  of  them  in  the  classes.  But  they  all  have  a  manner 
as  if  they  thought  I  was  beneath  them.  There  ain't 
many  of  them  that  play  with  me  exactly  as  they  do  with 
the  others.  Some  avoid  me  altogether,  as  if  they  thought 
I  wasn't  good  enough  to  speak  to,  and  they  make  remarks 
I  know  they  mean  I  shall  overhear ;  and  some  of  those 
whom  I  really  think  like  me,  are  always  teasing  me,  and 
calling  me  names." 

"  So  you  have  an  uncomfortable  time  of  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Avenel,  deeply  touched  by  his  sad  tone,  but  trying  to 
speak  cheerfully  ;  "  are  you  sure  it  is  not  a  little  your  own 
fault  ?  Aren't  you  too  sensitive  ?  and  don't  you  some- 
times take  offence  when  none  is  intended  ?  What  do  they 
call  you  ?  " 

"  They  call  me  a  nigger,"  he  replied,  hesitatingly,  and 
with  a  fresh  burst  of  silent  tears. 


what's   in   a   n  a  ji  e  ?  355 

"  Well,  and  so  you  are,"  she  answered,  calmly. 

"  O  Mrs.  Avenel ! "  and  he  raised  himself  to  look  in 
her  face  reproachfully,  and  with  great  surprise. 

"  It  is  true,"  she  replied;  "and  the  only  question  is, 
whether  that  is  to  be  considered  a  term  of  reproach. 
Every  thing  else  being  equal,  is  not  a  negro  as  worthy  of 
respect  as  a  white  man  ?  " 

"  I  suj^pose  so,"  said  he,  "  but  they  ain't  considered  so." 

"  We're  not  talking  now  of  things  as  they  seem,  but  of 
things  as  they  are.  It  is  a  great  thing  to  be  sure  we 
have  a  right  to  respect  ourseh-es  ;  and  let  me  tell  you,  my 
dear  Hemy,  it  is  because  this  quality  of  self-respect  is 
generally  but  feebly  developed  in  your  race,  that  they 
have  been  so  little  respected  by  others,  and  so  easily  kept 
in  a  menial  position.  Other  circumstances  have  combined 
to  aid,  but  this  has  been  one  great  thing.  Now,  the  name 
is  nothing ;  it  is  only  the  way  you  take  it,  that  gives  it 
power  to  wound.  I  knew  a  boy  who  was  very  much  en- 
raged because  another  called  him  a  '  lexicon.'  " 

Henry  laughed,  and  sat  up,  interested,  in  spite  of  him- 
self.   "  I  shouldn't  mind  being  called  a  lexicon,  but " 

"But  you  mind  being  called  a  nigger,  child.  You 
must  conquer  this.  It  is  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of,  that 
you  belong  to  a  different  race  from  your  schoolfellows. 
When  they  see  that  it  no  longer  teases  you,  they  M-ill  no 
more  think  of  using  it  as  a  term  of  reproach,  than  they 
would  now  think  of  calling  you  an  Indian,  to  vex  you. 


356 


Accept  it  as  a  fact,  and  they  will  cease  to  apply  it  as  an 
insult." 

"I  suppose  it  is  so,"  said  he,  thoughtfully,  after  a  long 
pause ;  "  and  you  are  all  so  kind  to  me  that  I  don't  sup- 
pose I  ought  to  be  unhappy.  It  isn't  many  white  boys 
that  have  such  a  pleasant  home  as  I  have  here,  and  plenty 
of  books,  and  every  thing,"  he  added,  looking  iip  in  her 
face  with  a  grateful  smile. 

"  Dear  child,"  said  Mrs.  Avenel,  "  you  have  it  in  your 
power  to  make  us  very  proud  and  happy.  I  know  it  will 
inspire  you  with  fresh  courage,  and  a  new  motive  for  ex- 
ertion, and  so  I  will  tell  you  that  some  of  our  neighbors, 
whose  conduct  has  wounded  you,  regard  our  treatment  of 
you  in  the  light  of  an  experiment,  and  are  waiting  to  see, 
by  your  success  or  failure,  whether  it  is  really  proper  to 
treat  a  negro  boy  on  terms  of  entire  equality.  If  you 
become  a  learned  and  good  man,  I  shall  be  more  grateful 
than  I  can  express." 

"I  will  try,"  said  Hemy ;  but  the  thought  brought 
back  the  sting  of  his  recent  sorrow,  and  the  next  moment 
he  threw  himself  down,  exclaiming,  in  tones  of  despair, 
"  0,  dear,  dear,  what  is  the  use,  after  all?  What  is  the 
use  of  trying  to  study  and  get  knowledge  ?  What  is  the 
use  of  being  wiser  or  better  than  others  ?  I  shall  al- 
ways be  looked  down  upon.  I  shall  never  be  able  to  use 
what  I  know.     I  shall  never  be  treated  as  if  I  was  white." 

"  Henry,"  said  Mrs.  Avenel,  passing  her  arm  around 
him,  and  speaking  in  a  low,  impressive  tone,  "  there  was 


A.     NEW     THOUGHT.  357 

One,  who  liad  all  riches,  and  power,  and  knowledge,  at 
his  command ;  one  who  for  eighteen  centuries  has  exerted 
a  wider  influence,  and  received  more  devoted  love  and 
veneration,  than  any  being  Avho  ever  lived  nr>  earth  ;  and 
of  him  it  was  said,  '  He  came  not  to  be  ministered  unto, 
but  to  ndnister.'  " 

"  That  was  our  Lord,  the  Savior  "  ■"'iiiupered  Henry. 

"  It  was  ;  and  aU .  that  was  noble,  all  that  was  attrac- 
tive, all  that  was  inspiring,  was  centred  iu  him,  and  ex- 
emplified in  his  life.  What  if  your  best  endeavors  cannot 
win  you  that  esteem  and  popularity  which  you  desire ;  is 
it  no  motive  for  exertion,  that  you  can  imitate  him  ?  The 
circumstance  of  your  birth  will  indeed,  for  no  fault  of 
yours,  subject  you  to  much  that  is  painfid,  and  cut  you 
off  from  those  ambitious  aims  that  seem  highest  in  the 
eyes  of  the  world ;  but  it  enables  you  to  work  most 
effectually  in  the  cause  which  now  enlists  the  sjTupathies 
of  the  philanthropic  all  over  the  earth.  You  can  do  more 
than  ten  white  men  to  solve  the  problem  that  has  per- 
plexed and  distressed  the  nation.  Perhaps  I  am  using 
language  beyond  your  years  ;  do  you  understand  me  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head  dubiously.  » 

"  I  am  trying  to  give  you  a  hope  and  an  object  in  life. 
I  have  seen  how  discouraged  you  felt  lately,  and  I  did  not 
wonder,  for  it  is  hard  for  such  young  shoulders  to  bear 
the  cross  ;  but,  Henry,  yoiu*  mission  is  to  your  OAvn  people, 
and  there  you  can  do  a  great  and  noble  work,  even  by 
simply  educating  yourself ;  for  every  negro  of  intellectiial 


358  CASTE. 

ability  and  attainments  furnishes  an  unanswerable  argu- 
ment to  the  friends  of  your  race.  They  are  oppressed 
and  despised,  but  their  help  must  come  from  themselves ; 
they  must  demonstrate  their  fitness  for  equality," 

"  But  it  is  very  hard,"'  sighed  the  chUd. 

"  Yes,  det-v  it  is  very  hard  ;  but  you  know,  the  greater 
the  effort  the  greatex  ^i.r.  glorv  :  and  He  of  whom  we 
spoke  '  was  despised  and  rejected  of  men,  a  man  of  sor- 
rows and  acquainted  with  grief.'  His  friends  deserted 
him  in  the  hour  of  his  utmost  need,  and  his  enemies  per- 
secuted him  even  to  death  ;  but  he  bore  it  all  that  he  might 
be  the  Savior  of  man." 

But  the  boy  persisted,  despondingly,  "  He  could  bear 
it  —  he  was  God." 

"And  therefore  he  is  still  our  ever-present  Helper. 
Therefore  all  power  is  his,  in  heaven  and  on  earth,  and  he 
can  comfort  you  with  the  fulness  of  an  entire  sympathy, 
and  aid  you  with  divine  strength.  You  can  be  brave,  and 
sti-ong,  and  self-reliant,  vdth  such  help." 

"  I  will  try,"  said  the  boy,  catching  something  of  her 
enthusiasm.  "  After  all,  it  is  grand  to  overcome  difficul- 
ties, and  it  is  kind  of  mean  to  want  to  get  along  always 
the  easiest  way." 

Just  then  they  were  interrupted  by  a  clear  young  voice, 
that  called  his  mother's  name  ;  and  the  oldest  son,  Charley 
Avenel,  came  bounding  into  the  room. 

"  O  mother  !  "  he  began ;  and  then,  seeing  Henry,  he 
turned  to  him,  eagerly  —  "  O  Henry,  is  it  true  that  you 


YOUNG   America's   ethics.  359 

knocked  Ned  Conaut  down,  'cause  he  called  you  names. 
Tell  me,  do  ;   I  shall  be  so  glad  if  you  did." 

"  Hush,  Charley,"  said  his  mother's  gentle  voice,  and 
she  looked  at  Henry  inquiriagly. 

"  I  threw  my  books  at  him,"  said  he,  in  a  penitent  tone, 
"  but  I  didn't  know  it  knocked  him  down.  I  felt  as  if  I 
should  die.  I  thought  I  would  never  look  into  my  books 
again,  or  try  to  be  any  body." 

"  Good  I  "  shouted  Charley,  throwing  up  his  cap,  heed- 
less of  his  mother's  reproving  glance,  —  "  good  again  ! 
I'm  glad  it  knocked  him  over.  He's  always  plaguing 
you.  If  I  was  big  enough,  I'd  lick  him  myself.  No 
matter ;  his  cousin,  little  Sam  Conant,  is  coming  to  our 
school  by  and  by,  and  won't  I  take  it  out  in  plaguing 
him !  " 

"  You  foolish  boy  !  Henry  don't  need  you  to  fight  his 
battles,"  said  Mrs.  Avenel,  who  could  not  help  'mUing  at 
the  young  champion.  "  How  was  it^  Henry  ?  Tell  me 
about  it,"  she  added,  turning  to  him. 

"  Yes,  tell  us  about  it,"  said  another  voice  and  Mr. 
Avenel  appeared  in  the  doorway,  with  one  ittle  girl 
clinging  to  his  coat,  and  another  "  wee  toddK  ^  thing" 
perched  on  his  shoulder,  steadying  herself  ther*-  by  clasp- 
ing her  chubby  arms  around  his  forehead.  Hia  jay  looks 
fell  as  he  saw,  by  his  wife's  attitude  and  Henry  "i  swollen 
eyes,  that  something  serious  had  occurred ;  and  b.d  checked 
the  children's  mirth  to  listen  to  Henry's  simple  and  hon- 
est statement  of  the  events  of  the  afternoon.     "  I  hope 


360 


he  is  not  hurt,"  said  he,  in  a  subdued  tone,  as  he  closed 
his  recital.  "  But  I  felt  then  as  if  I  could  murder  him. 
Who  told  you  it  knocked  him  down,  Charley  ?  " 

"  The  boys  said  so,"  replied  Charley,  "  and  I  do  declare 
I'm  glad  of  it ;  I  am,  and  father  looks  as  if  he  was  glad 
too,  though  you  do  shake  your  head,  mother." 

"  I  don't  know,  but  I  do  think  it  served  him  right ;  and 
Henry  shan't  go  to  school  to  be  insulted,"  replied  Mr. 
Avenel,  whose  indignation,  for  the  moment,  got  the  better 
of  his  j  udgment. 

"  O,  I  think  there  Avill  be  no  trouble,"  said  Mrs. 
Avenel,  cheerfully ;  "  I  think  Henry  can  take  care  of 
himself." 

"  Yes,  Henry,  take  care  of  yourself,  —  that's  the  talk 
—  go  at  'em  and  knock  'em  down  when  they  plague  you," 
cried  Charley,  eagerly. 

Mr.  Avenel  laughed.  "  I  don't  think  that  is  exactly 
what  your  mother  meant,"  said  he.  "  You  know  she 
don't  go  in  for  knock-down  arguments  —  she  isn't  a  fight- 
ing character." 

"  Yes,"  said  Charley,  "  I  knoAV  she's  a  great  peace 
woman ;  but  it  won't  do  all  the  time,  I  tell  you." 

"  A  soft  answer  will  go  a  good  ways,  though,  in  turn- 
ing away  wrath,"  said  Mrs.  Avenel,  smiling. 

"  Now,  mother,  I  tell  you,  you  don't  know  about  that," 
said  Charley,  eagerly.  "  Soft  answers  may  do  for  some 
boys  ;   but  the  only  way  to  do  ^^^[th  such  boys  as  Ned 


A     13  E  X  T     G  I  V  E  X     THE     TWIG.  361 

Conant  is  to  pitch    right   into  'em,  and    make  'em   real 
afraid  of  you,  and  then  they'll  behave  themselves." 

Mrs.  Avenel  smiled,  but  pursued  the  subject  no  further 
at  that  time  ;  and  the  children  seized  the  moment  of  silence 
to  resume  the  frolic  in  which  the  twilight  hour  was  always 
passed  when  their  father  was  at  home. 

Escaping  with  some  difficulty  from  the  noisy  group, 
Henry  seated  himself  in  the  bay  window,  and  remained 
quiet  and  thoughtful ;  but  when  lights  were  brought  and  the 
family  gathered  around  the  table,  it  was  easy  to  see,  by  his 
calm  and  happy  face,  that  the  dark  cloud  had  rolled  away 
from  his  soul.  It  may  be  he  did  not  then  fully  under- 
stand all  that  Mrs.  Avenel  had  said  ;  but.  her  words  had 
given  a  new  turn  to  his  thoughts,  and  a  definite  object  of 
aspiration,  of  which  no  adverse  circumstances  could  de- 
prive him  ;  and  they  remained  in  his  memory,  until,  with 
advancing  years  and  knowledge,  he  could  appreciate  the 
noble  lesson  they  conveyed. 
31 


CHAPTER    NINETEENTH. 


"  A  merrj'-hearted  cbildliood,  running  wild 
With  pranks,  and  quirks,  and  jests,  and  oddities. 
And  bearing  still  a  promise  rare  and  rich 
Of  noble  manhood  in  the  after  years." 


Ned  Conaxx  was  one  of  those  boys  who  seem  pos- 
sessed by  an  irrepressible  love  of  teasing,  to  the  eifects 
of  which  both  friend  and  foe  were  exposed  indiscrim- 
inately ;  and  therefore  there  was  some  variety  of  opinion 
among  his  schoolfellows,  as  they  witnessed  Henry's  sud- 
den assault  and  its  unexpected  result.  The  blow  had 
struck  his  forehead,  and  for  a  few  moments  completely 
stunned  him ;  but  he  was  not  really  injured,  and  in  a  little 
while  he  recovered  his  senses,  and  sat  up.  At  first  he 
hardly  knew  what  to  make  of  his  sudden  change  of  po- 
sition ;  but  the  anxious  faces  around  him,  and  the  various 
exclamations  which  he  heard,  soon  recalled  the  facts. 

"  The  little  fellow  aims  well,"  said  he,  with  a  rueful 
face,  as  he  sat  holding  his  aching  head. 

"Straight  as  an  arrow,"  said  one  of  the  boys;  "and 
served  you  right,  too,  for  you're  always  tormenting  him." 

"  I'd  pay  him  for  it  to-morrow,  if  I  were  you,"  said 
another. 

(362) 


^VHAT     THE    BOOKS     DID.  363 

"  I  must  go  home,  then,  and  get  this  crack  in  my  skull 
sewed  up,  or  I  shan't  be  able  to,"  replied  Ned,  rising 
slowly  to  his  feet ;  and  the  group  scattered  in  various 
directions  to  their  homes,  after  indulging  in  a  few  more 
comments  on  what  had  happened. 

"When  Ned  entered  the  family  sitting  room,  his  mother 
was  alarmed  at  his  extreme  paleness,  and  anxiously  in- 
quired the  cause. 

"  My  head  aches  shockingly,"  he  said,  as  he  threw  him- 
self on  the  sofa ;  "  I  got  a  fall  that  hurt  it." 

His  mother  went  for  some  cold  applications,  and  his 
sister  threw  down  her  work  to  arrange  the  pillows  for 
him ;  for  Ned,  being  an  only  son,  was  a  person  of  some 
consequence  in  the  family.  "  Here  is  quite  a  swelling  on 
your  forehead,"  said  his  mother,  as  she  was  bathing  it,  a 
few  moments  after. 

"  The  fact  is,"  replied  Ned,  "  that  little  Henry  Lane 
threw  his  books  at  me." 

"  And  knocked  you  down  ?  "  exclaimed  his  mother. 

"  Prone  to  the  ground  at  once,  as  butcher  felleth  ox," 
replied  he,  quoting  from  the  First  Class  Book. 

"  The  little  scamp  !  "  said  Mrs.  Conant ;  "  that's  what 
Mrs.  Avenel's  model  child  has  come  to  —  is  it  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  as  he  was  to  blame,"  replied  Ned, 
"  for  I  Avas  teasing  him.  I  didn't  mean  any  harm,  but 
I've  given  him  a  good  many  rubs,  and  he  don't  like  me 
very  well." 

Little  Nelly,  who  was  sitting  by  the  fire  wanning  her 


864  CASTE  . 

doll's  feet,  looked  up,  as  she  heard  these  words,  exclaim- 
ing, "  I  shouldn't  think  he  would  !  Any  body  must  be 
terribly  forgiving  to  like  you." 

A  general  laugh  greeted  this  naive  expression,  and  the 
child  added,  by  way  of  explanation,  "  He  does  tease  any 
body  so  !  " 

"  Nelly  hasn't  forgotten  the  emetic  I  gave  her  doll, 
and  made  it  throw  up  all  its  sawdust,"  said  Ned.  "  Hold 
on,  mother;   don't  drovvu  a  fellow  with  that  water." 

"  Hold  back  your  head  a  little,  and  then  it  won't  run 
into  your  eyes.  What  did  yoti  say  to  make  Plenry  so 
angry  ?"  asked  his  sister  Julie. 

"  I  hinted  to  him  about  being  a  professor  of  boot-black- 
ing—  and  he  is  very  proud  of  his  scholarship." 

"  And  a  very  good  scholar  he  is,  too.  O  Ned,  you 
shouldn't  do  so,"  replied  Julie. 

"I  can't  help  it  —  he  is  so  thin  skinned,"  said  Ned. 
He's  a  thousand  times  more  ashamed  of  himself  than  any 
body  else  is  of  him." 

"  And  because  he  is  sensitive  and  timid  you  delight  in 
oppressing  and  making  him  miserable.  That  is  certainly 
a  noble  disposition.  Master  Ned,  and  I  should  think  you 
would  be  proud  of  it,"  said  Julie,  indignantly. 

"Why  don't  he  stand  up  for  himself,  then?  He's  as 
good  as  any  body  if  he  only  thought  so,"  he  answered, 
bluntly. 

"  You  know  very  well  he  caii't,  while  you  all  imite  to 
taunt  him  and  try  to  keep  him  doAvn.     Yo\i  boys  are  real 


NED     REPENTAXT.  365 

tyrants,"  said  Julie.  'Hit  him  again  —  he  hasn't  any 
friends  ! '  —  that's  what  they  say.  I've  heard  them  a 
hundred   times." 

"  Come,  little  Julie,  don't  cry  ;  I  ain't  half  so  wicked 
as  you  think  I  am,"  interrupted  Ned. 

"  I  have  no  idea  of  crying,  but  it  makes  me  angry  to 
have  you  do  so  ;  it  is  a  shame  !  "  said  Julie,  flushed  and 
excited,  but  unable  to  make  herself  look  much  more  fierce 
than  a  white  dove  does  ^^•hen  its  feathers  are  ruffled. 

"Angry!  you  angry!"'  shouted  Ned.  "Come,  now, 
that's  a  good  one  !  I  should  like  to  see  you  real  mad, 
just  for  once,  Julie  ;  we'd  mark  down  the  day  with  blue 
chalk  —  wouldn't  we,  mother  ?  " 

Mrs.  Conant  smiled,  and  Ned,  seeing  in  her  face  an  ex- 
pression rather  difi"erent  from  that  with  which  his  sister 
regarded  him,  added,  — 

"  My  head  is  better  ;  I  guess  Tve  had  enough  of  cold 
water.  Stop  bathing  now,  mother,  and  tell  us  if  you 
think  I'm  such  an  awful  sinner,  just  for  a  little  bit  of 
fun." 

"  "Well,  as  Julie  says,  it  don't  seem  kind  of  you  to 
tease  him  if  he  feels  badly  about  it ;  but  then  — '"  auJ 
Mrs.  Conant  hesitated,  for  she  had  not  quite  forgiven  thi^ 
blow,  respecting  the  eff'ccts  of  which  she  still  felt  anxious. 

"  That's  right,  mother;  you  be  on  my  side.  Say  you 
think  he  ought  to  stick  up  for  himself,"  said  Ned, 
coaxingly. 

31^^ 


&B6  CASTE. 

"I  don't  think  he  ought  to  Jight ;  he  ought  not  to  have 
knocked  you  down." 

"  O,  that  Avas  an  accident  —  the  knocking  doAATi.  The 
books  happened  to  hit  my  forehead,  and  down  I  went.  It 
was  fair  play  ;  I  don't  blame  him." 

"  That  is  one  good  thing  in  you,  Xed ;  you  don't  bear 
malice  ;  you  are  not  revengeful,"  said  Julie,  in  a  mollified 
tone. 

"  Revenge  !  I  scorn  it !  "  Xed  said,  throwing  out  his 
arms  with  a  gesture  that  threw  oif  the  cloths  his 
mother  had  laid  over  his  head.  "  Don't  cover  me  up 
•with  those  wet  rags,  or  I  shall  think  I  am  dead  and 
buried,  as  well  as  knocked  down." 

'-'"She  desisted  at  his  request,  and  as  she  removed  her 
hydropathic  array,  she  said  soberly  to  Julie,  — 

"  I  shall  go  over  to  talk  with  ]Mrs.  Avcnel  about  this. 
She  thought  she  was  going  to  have  a  piece  of  perfection 
in  that  child ;  but  he  seems  to  have  a  horrid  temper,  and 
she  ought  to  know  it,  and  not  persist  in  sending  him 
among  children  that  don't  want  him  for  a  playmate." 

"  O,  nonsense,  mother,"  Ned  broke  in  earnestly ;  "  don't 
you  do  any  such  thing.  He  would  be  a  fool  if  he  didn't 
get  mad,  once  in  a  while,  with  the  way  the  boys  rowel  him 
sometimes  ;  and  all  I  blame  him  for  is,  that  he  don't  get 
mad  oftener.  He  is  a  real  fine  little  fellow,  and  I'm 
going  to  turn  right  about  and  stand  up  for  him.  This 
last  knock-down  argument  has  convinced  me,  and  little 
J\;li ;   shan't  have  to  cry  over  my  wickedness  any  more. 


FUIEXDXY     IX  QUIRT.  367 

So,  Miss  Julie,  you  see  what  a  magnanimous  fellow  I  am 
—  ain't  I  now?  — to  own  up  at  this  rate." 

"  You  are ;  you  have  quite  redeemed  yourself  in  my 
opinion,"  she  answered,  smiling.  Then  turning  to  her 
mother,  she  added,  coaxingly,  "  Please  don't  say  any 
thing  about  it  to  Mrs.  Avencl.  That  poor  little  fellow 
must  have  a  great  deal  to  bear,  and  I  do  pity  him. 
Those  large  eyes  of  his  have  a  sad,  timid  look,  that  goes 
to  my  heart.  And  then  Mrs.  Avencl  is  such  a  nice  lady  ! 
I'm  afraid  you'll  hurt  her  feelings." 

"O,  he'll  tell  her  himself;  he  tells  her  every  thing," 
said  Ned,  carelessly,  "and  my  head  is  like  old  china  — 
least  said,  soonest  mended." 

'"Well,  well — just  as  you  please,  children,"  replied 
Mrs.  Conant,  as  she  left  the  room  ;  and  the  subject  was 
not  again  renewed  until  after  tea.  As  Ned  lay  on  the  sofa, 
while  his  mother  and  sister  sat  near  busy  with  their  sew- 
ing, there  was  a  ring  at  the  door  bell,  and  Mrs.  Avencl 
entered. 

The  color  burned  brightly  on  the  boy's  cheeks,  which 
had  until  then  been  very  pale  from  the  effect  of  his 
accident,  and  as  he  met  the  gaze  of  her  mild,  dark  eyes, 
he  started  from  his  couch  with  an  uneasy  feeling  of  guilt, 
which  did  not  escape  her  quick  observation  ;  but  without 
appearing  to  notice  it,  she  hastened  to  dispel  all  embar- 
rassment by  the  gentle  and  quiet  grace  with  which,  after 
the  usual  salutations  had  passed,  she  added,  — 

«•  I  could  not  be  contented  to  wait  until  morn;;i^  without 


368  CASTE. 

coming  to  know  if  IMaster  Ned  was  much  hurt  by  his  fall. 
Henry  will  say  what  he  pleases  in  apology  for  his  share 
of  the  injury ;  but  I  must  express  my  own  sorrow  that  it 
should  have  occurred.  Ned  has  taken  an  invalid's  posi- 
tion, I  see,  but  I  hope  he  does  not  suffer  much,  Mrs. 
Conant." 

"  0,  it  is  nothing  ;  I  shall  be  all  right  to-morrow : 
my  head  is  so  soft  that  it  don't  crack  easy,"  said  Ned, 
hastily  ;  and  his  mother  added  her  assurance,  to  dispel 
Mrs.  Avenel's  fears.  But,  still  retaining  a  little  of  the 
feeling  to  which  her  own  alarm  had  given  rise,  she  could 
not  resist  the  temptation  to  lecture  her  friend  a  little  upon 
a  course  of  conduct  that  seemed  to  her  so  injudicious,  and 
perhaps  to  indulge 

••  That  last  infirmity  of  noble  miuds  "  — 

the  desire  to  say,  "•  I  told  you  so." 

Thus  actuated,  she  added,  after  a  momentary  pause,  "  I 
must  say,  my  dear  Mrs.  Avenel,  this  is  only  what  I  have 
always  expected  and  prophesied.  If  you  have  trouble 
with  that  child,  it  won't  be  for  want  of  advice  about  the 
way  you  have  educated  him.  I  told  you  it  would  just 
make  him  unfit  to  stay  where  he  belonged,-  and  you 
would  never  be  able  to  get  him  into  a  higher  class.  I 
wonder  you  don't  see  it  now,  and  take  the  child  away 
from  a  place,  where,  if  he  is  sensitive,  as  Ned  says  he  is, 
he  must  be  continually  having  his  feelings  wounded ;  for 
I  don't  suppose  Ned  is  the  only  one  who  plagues  him." 


ONLY     FIT     FOR     SERVANTS.  369 

Mrs.  Avenel's  face  flushed,  but  she  answered  gentlj',  — 

"  We  encourage  him  to  persevere,  and  keep  him  at  the 
school,  on  the  same  principle  that  you  acted  the  other 
day,  when  you  made  Nellie  have  her  tooth  extracted  — 
the  old  principle  of  enduring  a  little  present  pain  for  the 
sake  of  great  future  good.  It  applies  to  a  child's  tooth- 
ache, but  it  has  made  heroes  and  martyrs  as  well." 

"  But  you  make  yourself  so  much  trouble,"'  rejoined 
Mrs.  Conant ;  "  if  you  had  never  attempted  to  do  so 
much  for  him,  he  would  have  been  entirely  satisfied  with 
being  well  situated  as  a  servant,  and  that  is  all  I  believe 
the  negroes  are  fit  for." 

"  Your  opinions  would  suit  some  of  our  southern 
friends,"  said  Mrs.  Avenel,  dryly. 

"  O,  I  want  them  to  he  free  ;  there  is  no  need  of  keep- 
ing them  in  slavery  if  they  are  ser\-ants,"  rejoined  Mrs. 
Conant  quickly. 

"  With  regard  to  Henry,  we  have  only  done  what  we 
considered  our  duty,"  replied  Mrs.  Avenel,  recovering 
from  her  momentary  irritation.  "  Excuse  me,  but  a  con- 
demnation of  slavery  comes  with  a  poor  grace  from  the 
lips  of  a  person  who  has  no  sympathy  with  efibrts  to 
raise  the  colored  race." 

"  You  are  severe,  Mrs.  Avenel,"  said  Mr.  Conant,  who 
had  entered  while  she  was  speaking,  and  noAv  stood 
warming  himself  at   the   fire. 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  be  severe,"  said  she,  more  gently  ; 
"  but  if  you  could  see  how  impossible  it  is  for  those  who 


370 


live  among  slaves  —  ignorant,  degraded,  and  indolent,  if 
not  vicious  —  to  realize  that  any  of  that  race  can  be 
intended  by  the  Creator  to  occupy  a  higher  position  than 
that  they  have  always  held,  in  this  country  at  least,  you 
would  not  wonder  that  I  speak  earnestly." 

"  There  is  a  great  difference,  however,  between  keep- 
ing them  as  slaves  and  emplopng  them  as  hired  ser- 
vants," said  Mrs.  Conant. 

"  Certainly  there  is.  But  persons  who  have  been  born 
and  raised  in  slaveholding  states  have  an  obliquity  of 
vision  on  this  and  every  other  point  connected  with 
slavery,  which  is  inconceivable  to  those  who  have  not 
witnessed  it  —  a  mental  strabismus,  in  comparison  with 
which  any  bodily  cross  eyes,  however  extreme,  fail  to 
astonish,  and  which  nothing  will  ever  cure  except  ocular 
demonstration  that  the  negroes  can  not  only  take  care 
of  themselves  physically,  but  can  become  educated,  re- 
fined, and  intellectual.  Let  people  at  the  north,  who 
want  slavery  abolished,  set  about  trying  to  accomplish 
this  object,  and  they  A\ill  work  with  some  prospect  of 
success." 

"  I  did  not  know  you  abolitionists  held  such  views," 
said  Mr.  Conant,  in  some  surprise  at  her  earnestness. 

"  I  don't  know  that  all  do,"  she  replied,  smiling ;  "  but 
I  certainly  consider  the  prejudice  against  color  which 
prevails  ■  at  the  north  a  more  serious  obstacle  to  the 
accomplishment  of  our  wishes  than  any  thing  at  the 
south." 


LOOK     OUT     FOR     NUMBER     ONE.  371 

"  You  don't  consider  the  prejudice  greater  here  than 
there  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Conant. 

"  No,  not  greater  —  perhaps  not  so  great ;  but  in- 
trenched behind  more  impregnable  barriers,  and  harder 
to  be  conquered." 

"  What  has  occasioned  this  conversation  ?  "  asked  [Mr. 
Conant,  abruptly,  not  much  liking  the  turn  it  had  taken. 

"  I  occasioned  it,"  said  Ned.  "  All  the  blame  and  all 
the  books  fall  on  my  oflfending  head,  and  I  haven't  much 
doubt  but  I  deserve  them  both." 

"  For  my  part,"  said  Mr.  Conant,  "  I  approve  of  each 
person  looking  after  his  own  affairs.  The  southerners  are 
competent  to  manage  theirs,  and  I  believe  in  letting  them 
alone.  If  every  body  took  care  of  number  one,  all  the 
world  would  be  taken  care  of.  Let  a  man  look  out  for 
himself  and  his  family,  and  leave  others  to  do  the  same." 

"  Like  the  man  that  prayed,  '  God  bless  me  and  my 
wife,  my  son  John  and  his  wife,  and  my  half  of  Pete,  the 
nigger,'  "  suggested  Ned,  slyly. 

His  father  frowned,  but  could  not  help  laughing,  the 
next  moment,  at  the  boy's  comical  commentary  on  his 
words. 

"  I  don't  pretend  to  know  Avhat  ought  to  be  done  in 
every  case,"  said  Mrs.  Avenel,  after  a  pause ;  "  but  I 
assure  you  that,  however  politicians  may  talk  at  Wash- 
ington, to  ffighten  the  doughfaces,  there  is  a  class  among 
the  slaveholders,  who  realize  the  e^dls  of  their  position, 
unci   w(nild   not  a2;roe   with    vour  opinion  that   they  are 


competent  to  manage,  -without  aid  from  their  neighbors, 
this  complicated  business  in  which  they  are  involved. 
Such  persons  are  looking  anxiously  to  see  how  far  theory 
accords  with  practice,  and  if  the  free  blacks  are  becoming 
more  enlightened  and  self-sustaining,  after  years  of  free- 
dom, or  whether  the  proclivity  downwards  continues  as 
strong  as  ever.  They  watch  silently,  however,  for  no 
body  dares  say  openly  what  would  offend  the  multitude." 

"  I  approve  of  educating  the  negroes  ;  certainly  I  do. 
But  something  is  due  to  the  prejudices  of  society  also  ; 
and  I  never  noticed  that  a  man  got  along  any  easier  for 
disregarding  what  society  demands,"  said  Mr.  Conant; 
adding,  with  a  smile,  "  Mrs.  Avenel,  excellent  as  she  is, 
is  a  little  too  much  inclined  that  -vy^y,  —  a  little  too  much 
of  an  enthusiast,  —  and  so  are  all  her  family." 

"Do  you  think  so?"  replied  Mrs.  Avenel,  returning 
the  smile ;  and  after  a  little  more  conversation  on  topics 
of  general  interest,  she  took  leave  of  her  neighbors,  and 
returned   home. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Conant  were  very  nice  persons,  very 
respectable  persons,  very  excellent  persons  ;  fond  of  their 
children,  kind  to  their  neighbors,  conducting  the  busi- 
ness of  life  with  the  utmost  propriety,  and  a  great  degree 
of  pecuniary  success  ;  but,  although  they  were  totally 
unaware  of  it,  their  ideas  and  hopes  traversed  a  very 
narrow  range,  bounded  by  a  very  high  wall  of  prejudices, 
and  they  stood  in  awe  of  "  Mrs.  Grundy  "  to  an  extent 


RECONCILIATION-.  373 

painful  to  be  witnessed  by  persons  of  any  independence 
of  character. 

Yet  there  are  so  many  similar  to  them,  that  persons  of 
this  class  generally  run  smoothly  along  the  race  course  of 
time,  keeping  the  ring  without  difficulty,  and  attaining 
the  goal  they  have  set  up  for  themselves,  —  smiling,  the 
while,  at  the  folly  of  enthusiasts,  and  cherishing  a  holy 
horror  of  isms,  as  traps  set  to  catch  the  unwary. 


"When  Henry  came  near  the  academy,  the  next  morn- 
ing, he  saw  Ned  Conant  leaning  over  one  of  the  posts  set 
in  the  entrance  to  the  play  ground,  surrounded  by  a 
small  group  of  boys,  to  whom  he  seemed  to  be  talking 
very  earnestly. 

"  I  wonder  what  he  will  say  to  me,"  thought  Henry. 
"  No  matter  what  it  is  ;  I  will  have  courage  to  do  what 
is  right ;  the  boy's  laugh  shan't  frighten  me  into  disap- 
pointing Mrs.  Avenel.     But  I  ^\dsh  it  was  over." 

At  this  moment  Xed  saw  him  approaching,  and  called 
out,  — 

"  Hillo,  little  'un  !  1  hope  you  don't  mean  to  make  me 
pay  damages  on  those  books  that  got  their  corners 
knocked  off,  last  night,  against  my  head.  There  can't 
be  one  of  'em  fit  to  use  again.  I  am  sure  there  is  full 
half  the  Latin  Grammar  in  my  noddle  now,  though  the 
folks  at  home  were  busy  all  last  evening  picking  the 
32' 


37^  CASTE, 

pieces  out  of  my  skull.  We  sent  out  and  bought  a  gross 
of  nippers,  and  used  'em  up,  and  got  out  all  the  bits 
except  the  Latin  ;  that's  there  still :  I  was  saying  bonus, 
-a,  -11711,  all  night." 

"I  shoidd  think  you  had  been  saying  malus,  -a,  -um,'^ 
said  Heni-y,  joining  the  laugh  the  boys  had  raised.  "I 
ought  to  be  ashamed  of  myself  for  throwing  the  books 
at  you,  and  I  am." 

"  You  feel  as  well  ashamed  as  you  do  any  way,  don't 
you  ?  "  said  Ned. 

"  No,  I  don't,  either.  The  fact  was,  I  was  mad,  or 
what  you  said  wouldn't  have  made  me  so  fire-ocious. 
One  of  the  boys  threw  away  my  cap,  at  recess,  and  I  was 
fool  enough  to  be  angry  about  it." 

"  He  meant  to  make  you  mad,"  said  one  of  the  by- 
standers. 

"  I  know  he  did,"  rejoined  Henry,  "  and  for  that  very 
reason  I  was  the  more  a  fool  for  feeling  as  I  did." 

"  "What  are  you  talking  about  ?  Is  Hen  making  a 
speech?  "  asked  a  boy  who  came  up  just  then,  with  two 
or  three  others. 

"  I  ain't,  but  I  am  going  to  ;  for  I  have  about  ten 
words  I  want  you  all  to  hear,"  he  replied. 

"Hear!  hear!  a  speech  from  little  Hen  Lane,"  shout- 
ed one  of  them. 

"  A  stump  speech,  'thout  no  stump  to  it,"  said  an- 
other. 

"  "V^Tao  says  I  haven't  my  stump  ?     Here's  one  from 


A     STUMP    SPEECH.  375 

the  tree  of  knowledge,"  Henry  said  quickly,  throwing 
down  his  bundle  of  books,  and  stepping  on  it. 

The  boys  seized  the  idea,  and  a  general  tumbling  of 
books  succeeded,  until  the  young  orator  was  elevated  on 
a  pedestal,  which,  though  a  little  unsteady,  and  not  ad- 
mitting of  many  gesticulatory  flourishes,  served  to  elevate 
him  above  the  crowd  which  had  gathered  round. 

There  was  a  momentary  bashful  pause,  and  then  he 
began,  — 

" '  You'd  scarce  expect  one  of  my  age 
To  speak  in  public  on  the  etage.' 

But,  ha-hum  !  "  clearing  his  throat,  boldly,  "  here  goes  ! 
Since  I  have  been  in  the  school,  some  of  you  boys  have 
somehow  got  an  idea  that  I'm  a  nigger  —  picked  up  out 
of  a  sand  bank  —  and  you  have  taken  particular  pains  to 
inform  me  of  the  fact.  Now,  I  just  want  to  tell  you  that 
I  remember  where  I  was  born  as  well  as  you  do,  for  I 
was  there  first,  and  upon  serious  reflection,  I  have  come 
to  the  conclusion  that  I  am  a  nigger,  and  probably  always 
shall  be." 

"  No,  you'll  be  a  colored  gentleman,  by-and-by," 
interrupted  one  of  his  hearers. 

"  Interruptions  not  allowed.  I  claim  the  stump.  Mr. 
Chairman,  please  preserve  order,"  said  Henry,  turning  to 
Ned,  who  proceeded  to  shout  "  Order,"  and  was  echoed 
with  such  zeal  by  a  dozen  other  voices,  that  order  was 
some  time  in  being  restored.  When  they  were  still  he 
went  on. 


3l6 


"  If  any  of  you  think  I'm  ashamed  of  not  being  white, 
you  are  much  mistaken.  I  don't  think  my  color  is  any 
disgrace  at  all,  and  I'm  sure  it  is  very  becoming  to  my 
style  of  beauty  !  So  you  see  the  more  you  kick  me,  the 
higher  I'll  rise  ;  for  I  can't  help  it  if  I  am  smarter  than 
the  rest  of  you,  and  I  hope  you'll  try  not  to  feel  bad 
about  it.  If  you  kick  me  too  hard,  I  may  go  up  so 
high  that  I  shall  never  come  down  again,  —  like  the 
football  that  lodged  in  the  belfry.  Gentlemen  and  ladies, 
I'm  done  finished,  and  I  thank  you  for  the  stump." 

He  jumped  down  as  he  uttered  the  last  words,  and 
Ned,  throwing  up  his  cap,  called  loudly  for  three  cheers 
for  "  Hen,  the  boy  that  wasn't  ashamed  of  himself." 

The  air  rang  with  acclamations,  and  then  Ned,  holding 
out  his  hand  to  him,  said,  cordially,  — 

"  My  fine  fellow,  you've  done  just  what  I  wanted  you 
to,  and  I'm  proud  of  you ;  and  from  this  day  out,  if  any 
body  abuses  you  more  than  you  can  manage,  just  send 
'em  to  me,  and  see  if  I  won't  give  'em  fits,  —  that's  all." 

Henry  grasped  the  proffered  hand,  and  they  went  into 
the  school  house  together. 

This  incident,  unimportant  as  it  seems,  affected  all  his 
after  life.  The  last  bitter  drop,  instead  of  overflowing  the 
cup,  changed  the  whole  draught  into  something  healthful 
and  almost  pleasant.  The  new  light  upon  the  dark  past, 
the  opening  of  new  hopes  and  aims  in  the  future,  the  con- 
viction of  the  possibility  of  strength  and  endurance,  which 
the    evening  conversations  had  afforded  his  earnest  and 


A     XEW     COXTRSE.  377 

thoughtful  nature,  never  afterwards  forsook  him ;  and 
from  the  time  of  his  boyish  declaration  of  independence, 
his  schoolfellows  treated  him  in  a  manner  quite  different 
from  that  they  had  hitherto  shown.  They  were  some- 
times petidant  and  rude,  or  teasing,  as  boys  will  always 
be ;  but  a  different  spirit  pervaded  alike  their  quarrels 
and  their  reconciliations ;  and  A^ith  Xed  for  his  cham- 
pion and  friend,  he  had  little  cause  to  complain  of  the 
others. 

32* 


CHAPTER    TWENTIETH 


"Deatli!  what  is  death  ?    A  locked  aud  sacred  thing, 
Guarded  bj'  swords  of  fire  —  a  hidden  spring  — 
A  fabled  fruit  —  that  I  should  thus  enduro 
As  if  the  world  around  me  held  no  cure ! 
Wherefore  not  sjiread  free  wings  ?  " 


"  What  is  it  you  are  sajing  about  Miss  Helen  ?  Tell 
me,  Kissy,"  said  little  Emma  Warner,  pulling  at  her  nurse's 
sleeve  ^vitl^  childisli  impatience,  as  she  stood  talking  in 
low  tones  with  a  fellow-servant,  the  morning  after  Helen 
had  left  the  house.  "  Tell  me  what  it  is.  What  makes 
them  aU  so  sober?  "  she  urged,  as  her  words  seemed  va\- 
heeded. 

"  O,  little  pitchers  !  "  said  Kissy.  "  Go  to  your  play, 
child.     'Tain't  none  o'  your  business." 

But  this  reply,  as  might  be  expected,  only  stimulated 
Emma's  curiosity,  and  she  repeated,  with  the  petulance  of 
an  indulged  child,  "Tell  me — I  will  know  —  what  did 
she  go  away  for?  " 

"  Go  ask  your  grandma,  if  you  want  to  know,"  said  Ken- 
tucky, the  wooden-looking  cook,  who  stood  by. 

"  She  won't  tell  me  if  I  do  ask  her.  She'll  only  say, '  Lit- 
tle girls  shotildn't  ask  questions.'  That's  what  she  always 
says.     Just  as  if  being  little  was  any  reason  why  any  body 

(378) 


LITTLE     PITCHERS.  379 

shouldn't  want  to  know  about  things  !  "  she  added  indig- 
nantly.    "  You  tell  me,  Kentucky  —  won't  you  ?  " 

"  Ki !  "  said  Kentucky,  shortly.  "  Let  'em  tell  you 
dat's  done  did  it,  if  dey  ain't  'shamed  ob  it.  De  true  fac' 
is,  Miss  Emma,  dcy's  found  out  in  dare,"  she  added,  point- 
ing to  the  breakfast  room,  where  the  family  were  sitting, 
"  dat  black  is  jest  as  good  as  white,  till  dey  sees  what 
color  'tis,  and  den  'tain't  good  for  notliin' .'' 

This  oracular  utterance  did  not  tend  to  appease  Emma's 
excitement,  and  opening  her  eyes  in  still  fiurther  perplexity, 
she  was  about  to  demand  an  explanation,  when  Gus,  who 
was  sitting  astride  a  limb  of  the  tree  beneath  whose  shade 
the  group  was  standing,  shouted  in  his  shrill,  clear 
tones,  — 

'• '  I  know  one  ting, 
An'  I  knows  two  ; 
I  bet  a  nigger  boy 
Knows  more'n  you.' " 

"  Do  you  know  ?  "  said  Emma,  looking  up  at  him.  "  O 
Gus,  now  do  tell  me  if  you  know." 

"  Ki !  bress  de  chile  !  Mi  s  Emma,  dat  ar'  Gus  dono 
how  ter  tell  de  troof,  if  he  luiows  oder  tings ;  so  don't 
b'lieve  one  word  he  gwine  say, "  sai(?  Kentucky,  impa- 
tiently, contorting  her  arms  and  body^  in  a  vain  effort  to 
make  signs  behind  her  back,  -which  n\i^ht  induce  Gus  to 
be  silent,  while  Kissy  added  coasingly,  "  Come  now.  Miss 
Emma,  I'se  gwine  in  de  house  —  you  cume  too." 

"  I  won't  stir  a  step  till  you  tell  me .  I  know  there's 
something  to  tell,  and  you  think  'Gus    -.nows  it,  nnd  you 


580 


doa't  want  him  to  tell  me  ;  and  that  is  just  the  reason  I 
want  to  know,"  Emma  replied,  placing  herself  resolutely 
against  the  tree. 

"  O,  you  ain't  good.  Miss  Emma,"  said  the  nurse,  in  a 
reproving  tone. 

"  I  don't  care  if  I  ain't  good,  just  this  once,"  replied  Em- 
ma ;  "  I  get  tired  of  being  good  all  the  time.  Now  tell  me, 
Gus,  do." 

"  Gus,  ef  you  do  tell,  you'll  get  a  floggin',  sure  'nufF; 
for  miss  say  she  didn't  want  de  chillen  told  nothin'  'bout 
it  —  say  so  perticuliir,'''  remonstrated  Kissy. 

Gus  paused.  He  knew  his  mistress  was  in  earnest  in 
this  request,  but  his  love  of  mischief  struggled  with  his 
fears.     Presently  he  sang  out  again, — 

" '  We'se  all  in  de  dumps, 

For  di'monds  is  trumps, 
De  kitten  is  gone  to  St.  Paul's, 

De  little  chillen  is  bit, 

An'  de  ma'am's  in  a  fit, 
An'  somchody's  house  done  got  built  widout  walls.' 

"Ha,  ha!"  laughed  he,  delighted  at  his  success  in 
adapting  this  old  ditty,  to  suit  the  occasion  —  "  ha,  ha  !  I 
reckons  dat  someb-^dy  was  Mass  Hubert.  He  house  done 
tumbled  down." 

"  Gus,  Gus,  you  11  cotch  it!"  said  Kentucky,  menacing 
him ;  but  he  only  shouted  louder, — 

" '  On^  tim(>  T  courted  a  handsome  laaa 
Ae^  elicr  your  eyes  did  see  —  o  —  e; 
But    low  she's  lume  to  such  a  pass, 
SB  o  neber  will  do  for  me— e— e." 


A  L  L     O  U  T  .     •  381 

"  Gus,  you  done  cotch  it  now,  sartin,"  cried  Kentucky, 
making  an  eflfort  to  get  hold  of  him,  which  he  ehided  by 
springing  to  a  higher  branch,  exclaiming, — 

"Who  scare?  I  ain't.  Reckon  somebody  got  to  cotch 
me  'fore  I  kotch  it.  Dis  nigger  am  mighty  spry  little  fel- 
ler, Kentucky  ;  "  and  he  snapped  his  fingers  in  her  face. 

"  O,  don't  go,  don't !  Tell  me  before  you  go,  and  Til 
give  you  something,"  pleaded  Emma,  as  she  saw  him  meas- 
uring the  tree  with  his  eye,  and  apparently  preparing  to 
ascend  to  its  topmost  bough. 

"  I  vnll  tell  yer.  Miss  Emma,  jest  to  plague  dat  ar  ole 
black  fool,"  he  answered,  pausing,  with  one  foot  raised. 
"  De  true  fiac'  is,  dat  yer  Miss  Helen  am  nothin'  but  a  nig- 
ger, and  Colonel  Bell  done  bought  her,  and  toted  her  off. 
Dere  now  !  "  and  with  a  triumphant  whistle  he  disappeared 
among  the  foliage. 

"  What  does  he  mean  ?  jNIiss  Helen  a  nigger !  "  exclaimed 
Emma,  horror-struck  at  the  idea ;  and  in  another  minute 
she  burst  into  the  room  where  the  family  still  lingered 
over  their  scarcely  tasted  breakfast. 

"Grandmother,  is  it  true  —  is  it?  Has  Colonel  Bell 
bought  Miss  Helen  and  carried  her  away  ? "  she  asked 
breathlessly.   . 

"  There  now !  Gracious  goodness  !  who  has  been  telling 
that  child  about  it?  "  cried  Mrs.  Warner,  shrugging  her 
shoulders,  and  fidgeting  in  her  chair,  as  was  her  manner 
when  excited. 

"  How  did  vou  hear  that,  Emma  r  " 


383  CASTE. 

"  Gus  told  me,"  she  canswered,  abashed  by  the  displeasuie 
manifested  in  the  faces  around  her. 

"  Gus  shall  have  one  good  whipping  then,  before  he  is 
a  day  older,"  said  Mrs.  Warner  angrily.  "  I'll  see  if  I  can't 
be  obeyed  in  my  own  house." 

"  Don't  whip  him,  please :  it  was  I  that  coaxed  him  to 
tell  me ;  he  didn't  mean  to,  only  I  made  him,"  said  the 
child,  emboldened  by  her  innate  sense  of  justice.  "  But 
O,  do  tell  me  about  it  —  is  Miss  Helen  a  nigger  ?  " 

"  Hush,  child  —  you  drive  me  crazy  !  "  cried  her  grand- 
mother, shiinking  at  the  sound  of  that  word.  But  Emma 
persisted,  and  yielding  to  an  irresistible  necessity,  Mrs. 
Warner  looked  doubtingly  at  her  husband,  as  if  to  say, 
"  Shall  I  tell  her  ? "  and  replied  in  a  calmer  tone,  — 

"  Perhaps  you  may  as  well  be  told  about  it,  and  that 
will  stop  your  questions.  It  is  true  that  Miss  Helen  be- 
longs to  Colonel  Bell,  for  her  mother  was  his  servant ; 
but  you  mustn't  talk  about  it  any  more.  We  did  not  know 
it  till  yesterday." 

"  Why,  how  can  she  be ! "  exclaimed  Emma.  "  I  thought 
servants  didn't  know  as  much  as  white  folks,  and  couldn't 
take  care  of  themselves,  and  we  always  had  to  take  care 
of  them.  "N^^hy,  grandmother.  Miss  Helen  knows  ever  so 
much  —  more  than  any  body  else  in  the  house  ;  and  she 
can  take  care  of  herself  ever  so  well.  How  can  she  be  a 
servant  ?  " 

"  Circumstances  make  a  great  difference.  You  can't 
understand  how  it  is  now,  child." 


A     LITTLE     PHILOSOniEK.  383 

"  Why  don't  we  always  have  these  kind  of  circumstances 
then?  "  interrupted  Emma.  "  I'm  sure  it  is  a  great  deal 
pleasanter.  Miss  Helen  was  so  good  and  so  handsome,  and 
taught  us  heaps  of  nice  things ;  and  you  never  scolded  me 
for  any  thing  she  told  me,  like  yon  do  for  what  the  servants 
tell  me.  How  funny  that  she  should  belong  to  Colonel 
Bell !  I  can't  make  it  seem  right,  grandmother.  I  thought 
you  said  it  was  never  proper  for  servants  to  know  so  much 
—  how  to  read,  and  study,  and  play  the  piano,  and  every 
thing  ;  "  and  the  fair  face  was  lifted  in  innocent  wonder. 

"  Hush,  child  —  do  for  mercy  sake  hush  !  You  don't 
know  what  you  are  talking  about.  I  wish  I  hadn't  told 
you  a  word  of  it,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Warner,  in  perplexity. 

Emma  stood  beside  her  silently  a  short  time,  and  then 
asked,  — 

"When  %vill  Miss  Helen  come  back  ?  " 

"  She  isn't  coming  back  again.  Run  and  play  now,  and 
don't  ask  questions." 

"  But  I  must  ask  questions,  for  I  want  to  know.  Why 
isn't  she  coming  here  again  ?  Is  she  going  to  live  with 
Colonel  Bell,  and  didn't  she  want  to  go ;  and  was  that  what 
made  her  sick  yesterday,  and  makes  you  all  so  sober  this 
morning  ? " 

"  She  has  gone  to  stay  with  Mrs.  Avenel  —  she  wanted 
to  go.     You  mustn't  talk  about  it  any  more." 

"  But  may  I  go  and  see  her  ?  Perhaps  she  is  ill,  and 
woidd  like  to  see  us.  May  I  go  with  uncle  Hubert  when 
he  "-oes  ?     Will  vou  take  me.  uncle?" 


384 


As  she  spoke,  she  ran  to  the  window,  where  Huhert  sat 
Avith  his  face  turned  from  his  parents.  He  had  been  talk- 
ing Avith  them  when  she  entered.  Her  words  stung  him 
almost  to  madness,  and  at  this  moment  he  rose  to  leave 
the  room  ;  but  she  caught  his  hand,  and  repeated  her  en- 
treaty in  a  gentle  tone,  that  arrested  his  steps. 

"  So  you  want  to  go  see  her  ?  "  he  said,  bitterly  ;  "  your 
first  thought  is  not  to  cast  her  oiT.  Some  of  your  elders 
might  profit  by  the  lesson." 

He  glanced  at  his  parents  as  he  said  this,  and  his  father 
answered,  quickly,  — 

"  What  can  that  child  understand  of  the  bearings  of 
this  delicate  question  ?  Of  course  she  loved  Helen ;  we 
all  did  ;  but  if  she  were  older,  she  would  see  that  our 
feelings  should  not  lead  us  to  overlook  grave  social  dis- 
tinctions." 

Hubert  made  no  reply,  but  sighing  heavily,  walked 
slowly  from  the  room,  accompanied  by  Emma,  who  still 
clung  to  his  hand.  When  they  reached  the  piazza,  he 
saw  that  her  eyes  were  overflowing  with  silent  tears.  He 
sat  down,  and  took  her  in  his  arms.  "  What  is  the  mat- 
ter ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  feel  so  sorry  about  Miss  Helen  !  I  don't  know  what 
has  happened  to  her  ;  but  I  don't  believe  they  will  ever 
let  me  see  her  again,  and  I  loved  her  dearly ;  "  and  the 
child  hid  her  face  on  his  shoulder,  unable  longer  to  con- 
trol her  sobs. 

Hubt^rt  bowed  his  head  till  bis  faoc  was  hidden  in  her 


THE     LOYE     OF     GUI  l^B  HOOD.  385 

cm-Is ;  and  when  he  raised  it  again,  bright  drops  like  tears 
glistened  there.  Here,  at  last,  then,  he  had  found  sym- 
pathy ;  and  though  he  made  no  reply,  his  little  niece  felt 
instinctively  that  from  him  she  should  meet  A\ith  no  re- 
pulse, and  that  her  words  had  pleased  him. 

Presently  the  servant  brought  his  horse  to  the  door,  as 
he  had  previously  ordered,  and  kissing  Emma,  he  placed 
her  on  the  floor. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  to  see  Miss  Helen  r  "  she  asked. 

He  nodded  assent. 

"  Stop  till  I  give  you  some  present  to  take  her.  I  love 
her.  Here,  take  this ;  she  always  said  it  was  pretty." 
She  detached  from  her  necklace  a  small  cornelian  cross, 
and  laid  it  in  her  uncle's  hand  as  she  spoke  ;  but  he  gave 
it  back  to  her,  saying,  sadly,  — 

"  Xo,  that  is  an  ominous  present.  She  has  crosses 
enough  now  to  bear.  Send  some  flowers,  and  I  will  give 
them  to  her  ;  she  likes  flowers,  you  know."  And  as  the 
child  went  to  gather  them,  he  said  to  himself,  "  I  meant 
that  her  path  should  always  be  strewed  with  roses  ;  but 
now,  Heaven  knows,  there  seem  to  be  nothing  but 
thorns." 

When  he  arrived  at  Mrs.  Avenel's,  Helen  was  sleeping ; 
and  Mrs.  Avenel  having  retired  to  her  room  to  gain  a 
little  repose,  he  was  obliged  to  wait  some  time  before  she 
joined  him  in  the  parlor.  She  was  deeply  affected  at  th« 
sight  of  his  haggard  and  disturbed  countenance  ;  but  she 
33 


CASTE . 


steadily  refused  to  allow  him  to  see  Helen,  whose  life 
depended  upon  being  kept  qviiet  and  free  from  excite- 
ment. When  he  became  convinced  of  this,  he  ceased  to 
urge  her ;  but  he  shuddered  to  realize  how  dreadful  must 
have  been  the  suffering  which,  in  so  short  a  time,  de- 
stroyed that  high  health,  and  those  buoyant  spirits,  and 
brought  her  to  the  verge  of  the  grave. 

Hardly  had  he  left,  when  his  mother  made  her  ap- 
pearance, full  of  anxiety  and  pity  for  the  unfortunate  girl, 
but  pitying  herself  very  nearly  as  much  for  the  mortifica- 
tion and  perplexity  of  her  own  position,  and  fixed  in  her 
purpose  to  prevent  her  son  from  again  meeting  one  whose 
power  over  him  was  still  so  strong.  Indeed,  on  this  day 
and  those  which  followed,  Mrs.  Avenel  found  herself 
poorly  fitted  for  the  part  she  was  forced  to  perform.  Gen- 
tle, and  too  tender-hearted  to  endure  giving  pain  to  those 
she  loved,  and  strongly  moved  by  Hubert's  passionate 
appeals,  she  was  often  inclined  to  espouse  his  cause,  and, 
heedless  of  the  future,  insist  that  Helen  should  allow  him 
one  more  interview.  Yet  when,  in  listening  to  his  moth- 
er's arguments,  she  remembered  the  voice  of  public  opinion, 
and  sympathized  in  her  intense  fear  lest  Hubert  should 
rashly  brave  that  dread  tribunal,  her  feelings  were  swayed 
in  the  opposite  direction,  and  she  would  agree  with  Mrs. 
Warner  that  it  was  best  on  every  account  the  lovers 
should  be  henceforth  entirely  separated. 

And,  kind  as  she   was,  and  full  of  tenderest  care  for 
Helen,  Mrs.  Avenel  was  not  exactly  the  right  person  to  be 


STRUGGLES    WITH     DESPAIB.  887 

her  sole  companion  in  this  hour  of  trial.  Her  meek  and 
timid  spirit  cowered  helplessly  before  the  wild  and  reck-' 
less  expressions  of  intense  despair,  Avhich  ^oecame  more 
and  more  frequent  as  the  invalid  slc^'ly  regained  bodily- 
health  ;  and  her  feebler  nature  cor ia  iiarclly  understand 
the  strength  and  power  of  those  warring  and  tumultuous 
emotions,  which  exhausted  themselves  •  in  piroxysma'  of 
tears,  and  moans,  and  fierce  cries  of  anguish. 

Yet  her  compassion  never  wearied;  aad  though  she 
yielded  where  another  might  have  controlled  aud  guided, 
her  softness  and  quietness  were  sometimes  inotpressibl/ 
soothing  to  the  unstrung  and  tortured  nerves  that' -  '  ' 
have  quivered  beneath  a  harsher  touch.  She  had  .'.  .: 
womanly  tact  and  delicacy,  and  she  contrived  in  manv 
ways  to  convey  to  Helen  the  messages,  and  letters,  and 
flowers,  which  Hubert  was  continually  bringing  to  her, 
without  directly  speaking  of  those  subjects  which  she 
knew  were  too  painful  to  be  made  the  theme  of  conversa- 
tion. She  could  not  quite  understand  the  firmness  mth 
which  Helen  refrained  from  returning  any  answer  to  these 
tokens  of  love  ;  and  one  day,  at  Hubert's  urgent  request, 
she  ventured  to  entreat  something  more  than  the  simple 
thanks  with  which  they  were  usually  received.  The  un- 
happy girl  listened  in  silent  agitation,  and  after  a  little 
pause  gave  her  a  message,  which  Hubert  received  with 
bitter  anguish ;  and  after  that  he  came  there  no  more. 

Three  weeks  had  elapsed,  and  one  day  Helen  was  re- 
clining listlessly  on  her  couch,  with  her  face  towards  the 


888 


window,  and  Mrs.  Avenel  thought  from  her  silence  that 
she  was  sleeping ;  but  at  length  she  asked,  — 

"  Who  are  buried  in  that  little  enclosure  I  see  yonder 
through  the  trees  ?  There  seems  to  be  a  gravestone 
within  it." 

"  ■'^Tave  you  never  noticed  that  before  ?     It  was  there 

7  dear   to   me,  and  who  had  suffered 

.1  will  tell  you  her  history.     She  was 

,-.  ever  knew  who  seemed  to  me  as  unfor- 

^«,  my  dear  Helen,"  said  Mrs.  Avenel,  in  pity- 

1  buried  o 

,       tl  she  found  rest  after  a  while.     The  unhappy  do 
much.    ;  ^^^ 

^^metimes,  then ! "  Helen  replied,  with  dreary  calm- 

tixiSS.  • 

"  She  found  rest  before  she  died,"  said  Mrs.  Avenel, 
gently.  "  She  was  a  sincere  Christian,  and  her  religion 
sustained  her  even  through  those  dreadful  trials  which  I 
thought  at  first  would  certainly  kill  her.  She  seemed  for 
the  last  two  years  of  her  life  almost  as  happy  as  I  ever 
knew  her ;  and  her  death  was  triumphant." 

"Can  such  deep  wounds  close  without  a  scar?  "  said 
Helen,  musingly.     "  Is  it  possible  to  forget  ?  " 

"  She  did  not  forget  —  O,  no  ;  but  she  Avas  happy,  be- 
cause she  was  resigned.  When  one  has  perfect  faith  in 
God,  it  is  easy  to  submit  to  his  will.  Eternity  seemed  so 
real  to  her,  that  it  was  not  hard  to  endure  patiently  a  few 
years  of  sorrow,  as  preparation  for  ages  of  unending  hap- 
piness.    He  who  sends  these  afflictions  has  power  to  heal 


DEATH     WEXCOME.  889 

the    wounds    they    make.     Do    you    not    believe    this, 
Helen?" 

"  I  used  to  believe  it,"  she  said ;  "  but  now  I  see  that 
it  is  not  so.  There  are  some  wounds  which  no  power  can 
ever  heal.  The  only  hope  is,  that  the  heart  will  at  last 
slowly  bleed  to  death." 

"  My  poor  sister  used  to  say,  '  Though  he  slay  me,  yet 
will  I  trust  in  him,'  "  replied  Mrs.  Avenel,  in  tones  of 
gentle  reproach. 

"  Ah,  if  he  would  but  slay  me !  "  said  Helen,  with  sud- 
den energy ;  "  it  would  be  so  easy  to  die  !     But  now  he 
rolls  his  thunders   over  me,  but  his  lightnings  will  not    . 
strike." 

"  Dear  Helen,  you  frighten  me,"  said  Mrs.  Avenel, 
shrinking  timidly  from  the  wild  light  in  her  eyes. 

"  You  needn't  be  afraid;  I  will  not  hurt  you.  I  know 
you  think  I  may  go  crazy,  and  perhaps  I  shall ;  but  even 
then,  I  could  not  harm  you,  my  only  friend,"  said  Helen, 
more  gently. 

"But  I  fear  sometimes  you  may  hurt  yourself,"  said 
Mrs.  Aver»el,  nervously. 

Helen  smiled  bitterly,  and  sinking  down  on  her  pil- 
lows, closed  her  eyes,  as  if  indisposed  for  further  conver- 
sation. But  she  thought  to  herself  how  strange  it  was, 
that  any  one  could  speak  of  death  as  if  its  coming  would 
harm  her,  when  she  had  so  longed,  so  panted  to  rest  in 
the  grave;  and  then  a  strong  impulse  seized  her  to  take 
33* 


390  CASTE, 

into  her  own  hands  the  issues  of  life  and  death,  and  boldly 
to  force  the  iron  gates,  which  would  not  open  to  her  prayer 
of  desperate  grief.  The  idea  had  before  crossed  her  mind, 
to  be  harbored  for  a  moment,  and  then  shrink  away  before 
the  light  of  conscience,  and  the  innate  love  of  life  which 
the  first  shock  of  sorrow  could  not  break.  It  was  strange 
that  Mrs.  Avenel's  timidity  should  have  been  the  first 
thing  which  provoked  that  impetuous  nature  to  indulge 
the  awful  thought,  and  dwell  upon  it,  until  it  took  shape 
and  form,  and  grew  into  a  strong  temptation.  Yet  so  it 
was.  Never  until  now  had  she  realized  how  easy  it  would 
be  to  rid  herself  of  these  weary  days  and  nights ;  and 
then  she  smiled  again,  as  she  remembered  how  carefully 
every  thing  ^Aith  which  she  could  hurt  herself  had  been 
removed  from  her  room  during  her  illness.  Her  mind, 
warped  and  bent  beneath  the  weight  of  her  misery,  awak- 
ened to  a  perverse  desire  fur  what  was  so  fearfully  with- 
held, and  experienced  a  fierce  delight  in  scheming,  and 
planning  opportunities  to  do  the  deed  from  which,  in  mo- 
ments of  perfect  sanity,  she  would  have  recoiled  with 
horror.  . 

All  the  afternoon  she  thought  of  it,  and  all  the  evening, 
until  her  senses  yielded  to  the  anodyne  which  Mrs.  Ave- 
nel  administered  ;  and  when  she  awoke  the  next  morning, 
the  idea  returned  in  still  more  attractive  guise.  It  oc- 
curred to  her  that  if  she  were  to  die  now,  before  her 
brother  knew  any  thing  of  what  had  befallen  her,  she 
might  leaVe  such  re'quests  and  arguments  as  would  prevent 


SLEEP  WITHOUT  WAKING.       391 

her  friends  from  telling  him  the  secret  which  would  wreck 
his  happiness  as  it  had  hers.  She  could  not  help,  could 
not  save  him,  if  she  lived  ;  but  if  she  died,  might  not  com- 
passion and  dread  close  every  mouth  ?  and  would  they 
not,  in  pity  to  her,  leave  him  in  blessed  ignorance  of  the 
woe  which  had  killed  her.  Ah,  yes,  it  must  be  so.  From 
the  crash  and  ruin  which  had  overwhelmed  her  she  would 
save  that  beloved  brother,  to  enjoy  long  years  of  calm 
happiness  with  the  Avife  of  his  youth. 

She  knew  where  the  medicines  were  kept,  and  she 
knew  the  key  had  been  left  on  the  mantelpiece  for  the 
use  of  her  attendant,  in  case  she  should  need  any  in  the 
night.  In  the  dim  morning  twilight,  she  arose  without 
waking  the  servant  from  her  sound  sleep  on  the  cot  beside 
her  bed,  and  with  the  key  in  her  hand  she  drew  around 
her  a  loose  wrapping  gown,  and  stole  softly  down  stairs. 
Her  bare  feet  made  no  noise  on  the  matted  floor,  and  as 
the  servants  were  still  in  the  yard,  she  met  no  one. 
When  she  returned,  she  had  in  her  hand  a  large  bottle 
labelled  "  Laudanum,"  which  she  hastily  secreted ;  and 
then,  overcome  with  fatigue  at  the  imwonted  exertion,  she 
lay  down  upon  her  bed  ;  and  when  the  servant  awoke  she 
feigned  to  be  asleep. 

When  Mrs.  Avenel  entered,  mth  her  kind  morning  in- 
quiries, she  was  surprised  to  find  Helen  half  dressed. 

"  My  dear  child,"  she  exclaimed,  "  you  are  surely  exert- 
ing yourself  too  much.     You  have  hardly  walked  across 


892  CASTE. 

the  room  yet,  and  you  should  not  try  to  be  so  very  smart 
as  this  !  " 

"I  am  better  this  morning.  I  have  more  strength 
than  you  think." 

"  Are  you  really  better  ^  You  don't  look  much  better. 
Let  me  see  your  face.'' 

She  threw  open  the  shutters,  and  Helen  turned  her 
face  to  the  light,  with  a  wan  smile  that  brought  tears  to 
the  eyes  of  her  gentle  hostess. 

*'  I  am  really  better,"  she  said,  "  stronger  than  I  have 
been  before  since  my  illness  ;  and  to-day  I  must  write 
some  letters." 

"  Will  you  ?  Your  brother  must  surely  be  anxious  on 
account  of  your  long  silence.  I  would  have  Avritten,  but 
you  were  so  unwilling." 

"  I  was  unwilling.  What  he  must  know  I  prefer  to  tell 
him  myself.  I  have  other  letters  to  write,  too.  After 
breakfast  will  you  send  me  some  Avriting  materials  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear  ;  but  don't  try  to  do  too  much.  It  is  dan- 
gerous for  you  to  make  any  fatiguing  effort." 

After  breakfast  the  servant  appeared  with  paper  and 
ink,  followed  by  Mrs.  Avenel,  who  herself  arranged  the 
table  and  wheeled  the  easy  chair  to  its  place.  She  was 
glad  to  see  in  Helen  these  symptoms  of  reviving  anima- 
tion and  interest  in  something  beside  her  own  thoughts  ; , 
but  she  was  still  anxious  lest  this  feverish  energy  might 
lead  too  far,  and  she  repeated  her  cautions. 

"  Do  not  fear,"  said  Helen,  in  a  tone  more    cheerful 


LAST    WISHES 


393 


than  she  had  used  for  a  long  time.  And  then,  as  her 
friend  was  leaving  her,  she  took  her  hand,  aftd  added, 
earnestly,  "  Tell  me,  Mrs.  Avenel,  if  you  should  receive  a 
letter  from  one  who  had  died  after  it  was  written, — before 
you  read  it,  would  it  not  seem  to  you  like  a  voice  from 
the  grave  ?  Would  it  not  impel  obedience,  like  an  inti- 
mation from  the  spirit  world  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  would.  But  why  do  you  ask  this  ?  "  replied 
she,  suddenly  alarmed. 

"  O,  for  nothing.  Only  I  think  that  possibly  I  may 
not  live  a  great  while  —  perhaps  not  so  long  as  these 
letters  will  be  in  reaching  their  destination." 

"  But  you  told  me  you  felt  better  this  morning." 
"  So  I  do.     Why  do  you  look  so  alarmed  ?     This  is  only 
the  passing  whim  of  a  moment.     Go  away  now,  my  dear, 
kind  friend,  and  leave  me  to  write  my  letters." 

There  was  nothing  strange  or  excited  in  her  manner, 
and  after  another  scrutiny  of  her  face,  Mrs.  Avenel's  mo- 
mentary fear  was  allayed,  and  she  left  her  alone. 

Helen  spent  a  long  time  in  writing,  first  to  Colonel 
Bell  and  then  to  Mrs.  Avenel,  whom  she  begged,  with  all 
the  arguments  she  could  devise,  to  keep  from  her  brother 
the  knowledge  of  his  parentage,  or  the  cause  of  the  sud- 
den illness  and  death  which  she  hinted  would  overtake 
her  before  these  pages  met  their  eyes.  Then  she  penned 
a  long,  aflfectionatc,  and  cheerful  letter  to  her  brother, 
disguising,  with  loving  hyporisy,  the  trouble  and  terror 
of  her  soul ;    and    then,  with   many  tears  and  frequent 


d94  CASTE. 

pauses,  she  wrote  a  few  lines  to  Hubert,  in  wliicli  were 
poured  forlli  all  her  passionate  love  and  anguish,  and  be- 
sought him  also  to  keep  the  fatal  secret  from  her  brother's 
knowledge. 

She  was  deathly  pale,  and  every  nerve  quivered,  when 
she  had  finished,  but  her  purpose  did  not  falter ;  and 
when,  after  a  few  moments,  she  placed  the  letters  where 
they  could  readily  be  found,  and  brought  the  bottle  from 
its  hiding-place,  her  hand  did  not  tremble  as  she  poured 
its  contents  into  a  cup  which  had  been  left  upon  the  table, 
containing  some  beverage  she  was  accustomed  to  drink. 

She  put  the  bottle  aside,  on  a  shelf  in  the  closet,  and 
then,  locking  the  door,  sat  down  with  the  cup  before  her. 
One  look  she  gave  at  the  familiar  objects  around  her,  and 
the  blue,  cloudless  sky  which  overarched  the  sunny  land- 
scape without  her  windows,  and  then,  shutting  her  eyes, 
she  raised  it  to  her  lips. 

At  that  moment  there  was  a  tapping  at  the  door  ;  the 
lock  was  turned,  and  finding  it  fastened,  Mrs.  Avenel  said, 
in  an  agitated  voice,  "  Helen,  your  brother  is  down 
stairs  !  " 

She  opened  her  eyes  again,  and  set  down  the  fatal 
draught.  A  look  of  deep  disappointment  came  into  her 
face,  and  with  a  groan  she  murmured,  — 

"  He  has  come  !  Well,  then,  we  can  drink  the  cup  of 
oblivion  together.  Poor  boy !  Why  did  he  come  so 
soon? " 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-FIRST. 


"  There  arc  some  liappy  moments  in  this  lone 
And  desolate  world  of  ours,  that  well  repay 

The  toil  of  struggling  through  it,  and  atone 
For  many  a  long  sad  night  and  weary  day. 

They  come  upon  the  mind  like  some  wild  air 
Of  distant  music." 


The  hazy  lights  and  the  purple  shadows  of  an  Octo- 
ber afternoon  lay  softly  on  the  hills,  and  glorified  with 
melancholy  beauty  all  the  fading  landscape  around  her 
home,  and  the  woodbine  from  her  window  cast  bright  re- 
flections from  its  gorgeous  leaves,  over  the  couch  where 
Charles  Dupre's  young  Avife  lay  sleeping.  Very  fair  she 
was,  but  the  delicate  bloom  of  her  cheek  had  faded,  and 
the  girlish  grace  of  her  form  was  gone  ;  yet  never  had 
she  been  so  dear,  so  beautiful,  as  now,  to  one  who  had 
entered  the  room  softly,  and  stood  earnestly  regarding 
her;  for  the  promise  of  a  coming  joy  had  invested  her 
with  the  sacredness  of  woman's  holiest  dignities. 

Presently  he  stooped  down  and  kissed  her  softly  be- 
tween her  eyes ;  and  then  how  quickly  those  blue  eyes 
opened,  and  two  white  arms,  clasped  tight  around  his 
neck,  kept  him  prisoner  till  he  Avas  forced  to  kneel  beside 

(395) 


396  CASTE. 

her  !  Then,  drawing  himself  back  a  little,  so  as  to  watch 
her  face,  he  said,  — 

"  Little  Julie  —  guess  !  " 

"  Guess  what  ?  "  she  answered,  smiling. 

"  Guess  where  I'm  going." 

"  Going  !  going  away  to  leave  me  ?  "  and  the  smile 
faded  from  her  lips. 

"  No  —  not  going  away  to  leave  her  —  going  for  the 
sake  of  coming  home  again.  It  will  be  so  nice  to  get 
home  !  "  he  answered,  caressing  her.  "  Won't  you  be 
glad  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  I'm  always  glad  to  see  you  —  you  don't  need  to  go 
away  for  that,''  she  answered,  in  her  soft,  childish  voice. 
"  Every  time  I  hear  your  step  on  the  stairs  I  am  all  of  a 
tremble  with  joy,  and  when  I  wake  in  the  night  I  long 
for  the  light  to  come,  so  that  I  may  see  you." 

"  Silly  little  Julie  !  "  said  her  husband,  fondly  ;  "  why 
don't  she  light  a  match  then,  and  look  at  him." 

"  She  would,  only  she's  afraid  of  waking  him,  and " 

"  It  is  too  much  trouble,"  added  her  husband,  laughing. 

"You  needn't  laugh  at  me,  sir.  I  am  glad  when  the 
daylight  comes.  Don't  go  away,"  she  said,  in  a  coaxing 
tone,  that  was  almost  irresistible. 

"  Dear  little  Julie,  I  am  afraid  I  must  go  ;  I  have  half 
expected  it  for  several  days,  but  didn't  tell  you,  because  I 
hoped  to  send  my  partner  instead ;  but  this  afternoon  I 
have  received  letters  which  will  compel  me  to  go  to 
Charleston." 


chaeIjEs    goes    southward.  397 

"  So  far  !  "  exclaimed  Julie,  piteously. 

"  I  shan't  be  gone  more  than  three  weeks,  and  if  you'll 
be  a  good  girl,  and  won't  cry,  I'll  bring  home  —  what 
should  you  like  best  ?  " 

"I  know  what  you  mean  —  Helen!"  she  answered, 
her  face  brightening  a  little  ;  but  it  lengthened  again,  as 
she  added,  "  But  three  weeks  is  such  a  long  time  !  and  I 
don't  believe  she'll  come  if  you  do  go  for  her." 

"  O,  yes,  she  will,"  said  he,  cheerfully.  "  I  must  go  and 
see  her,  you  know,  when  I  am  so  near ;  and  she'll  be  sure 
to  come  when  I  tell  her  how  much  we  shall  want  her 
by  and  by."  The  young  wife  hid  her  face  on  her  hus- 
band's breast,  and  a  warm  blush  mantled  her  neck  and 
shoulders,  half  revealed  through  their  white  drapery. 
Then  their  talk  turned  on  other  things.  He  was  to  leave 
the  next  morning,  and  there  seemed  so  much  to  be 
thought  of,  so  many  things  to  say,  before  this  first  separa- 
tion. They  talked  of  the  past,  -lived  over  again  its  hopes, 
its  fears,  and  its  delights,  and  wondered  how  there  ever 
could  have  been  a  time  when  they  did  not  love  each  other  ; 
and  into  the  future  they  glanced  with  rapid,  half-brcathcd 
words,  dreaming  dreams  that  were  even  more  entrancing 
from  the  faint  idea  of  imcertainty  and  peril  which  hung 
over  them. 

Twilight  had  gathered  roimd  them  when  the  summons 
to  tea  broke  in  upon  their  sweet  reveries,  and  they  de- 
scended to  join  the  family.  Then  the  news  of  his  brief 
34 


CASTE. 

absence  was  communicated,  and  elicited  various  exclama- 
tions and  remarks.  Mr.  Conant  had  some  matters  of 
business,  that  might  be  advanced  by  this  journey.  Nelly 
insinuated  that  the  promise  of  a  very  splendid  addition  to 
her  family  of  dolls  would  tend  to  reconcile  her  more  en- 
tirely to  his  departure ;  and  Ned  suggested  that  perhaps 
a  string  of  southern  onions  Avould  enable  her  to  cry  for 
joy  at  his  return. 

"As  for  Julie,"  added  Ned,  "you  had  better  take  her 
with  you,  if  you  don't  want  her  to  cry  her  eyes  out  while 
you  are  gone." 

"  Tike  her  with  him,  indeed !  "  said  Mrs.  Conant,  her 
jnatemal  plumes  ruffling  at  the  bare  idea ;  "  she  managed 
to  live  sixteen  years  without  him,  and  I  guess  she  won't 
be  such  a  little  goose  as  to  cry  about  an  absence  of  three 
weeks." 

Julie  ate  her  supper  with  a  very  suspicious  diligence, 
uttering  not  a  word.  She  looked  very  much  as  if  she 
wanted  to  be  just  such  a  little  goose,  in  spite  of  her 
mother's  cheerful  negative  ;  but  she  restrained  herself. 

"  I  suppose  you  will  go  up  to  see  Helen,  when  you  are 
so  near,"  said  Mrs.  Conant. 

"  Certainly  ;  I  have  promised  to  bring  her  home  with 
me,  to  pay  Julie  for  being  a  good  girl  while  I  am  gone," 
Charles  replied,  secretly  pressing  his  wife's  little  hand 
under  the  table.    , 

"  You  unreasonable  man !     You  can't  expect  to  keep 


WILL     BRING     HELEN     BACK.  399 

such  a  promise.     Isn't  she  to  be  married  this  month  ?  " 
said  Mrs.  Conant.  "«* 

"  That  was  the  expectation ;  but  the  time  mentioned  has 
nearly  arrived,  and  as  I  have  received  no  invitation  to  the 
wedding,  I  conclude  it  is  deferred,  for  some  reason.  She 
wouldn't  of  course  be  so  impolite  as  to  be  married  with- 
out reciprocating  the  grand  compliment  we  paid  her  last 
spring,"  he  answered,  gayly. 

"  It  would  be  very  strange  for  the  wedding  to  be  de- 
ferred. Don't  you  feel  anxious  lest  something  unpleasant 
may  have  occurred  ?     When  did  you  hear  from  her  ?  " 

"  I  have  had  no  letters  for  nearly  a  month.  When  she 
last  A\T0te,  she  was  on  her  way  homeward,  with  the  War- 
ners. It  is  a  little  strange  that  I  have  no  further  infor- 
mation ;  but  I  supposed  she  was  very  busy,  and  having 
other  things  to  occupy  me  just  now,  have  not  realized 
that  there  was  any  cause  for  anxiety." 

"  I  should  be  anxious,  if  it  was  my  sister,"  said  Mrs. 
Conant. 

"  I  shan't  be  ;  I  never  found  being  anxious  did  any 
good.  It  may  be  that  letters  have  been  lost.  We  don't 
believe  in  worrying  ;  do  we,  Julie?  "  Charles  said,  care- 
lessly. "  111  news  flics  fast  enough ;  and  as  I  shall  see 
her  soon,  it  is  hardly  worth  while  to  anticipate  any  thing 
very  dreadful." 

When  Charles  returned  that  evening  from  his  counting 
room,  he  found  his  ^vife  sitting  in  rather  a  disconsolate 


49^,  CASTE. 

attitude,  before  an  open  valise,  which  was  heaped  with 
clothing  far  beyond  its  capacity ;  and  with  a  rueful  face, 
she  looked  up  and  met  his  smile.  "  Was  she  tiring  her- 
self out  trying  to  put  five  things  in  four  places?"  said 
he,  lifting  her  in  his  arms,  and  placing  her  in  an  easy 
chair,  while  he  went  on  mth  the  packing. 

"  Mother  wanted  to  do  it,  but  I  wouldn't  let  her,"  said 
Julie  ;  "for  as  it  was  the  first  time,  I  wanted  to  put  up 
your  things  myself.  But  I  believe  I  don't  understand 
tbe  art,  for  you  see  how  poorly  I  succeed.  I  never  was 
good  for  much,"  she  added,  with  a  little  sigh. 

"  You  !  you  know  how  to  make  home  happy,  and  that's 
worth  every  thing  else  in  a  woman." 

"  There,  you've  finished  now,"  said  Julie  ;  "  how  nicely 
you  have  done  it !  Come  and  let  us  sit  by  this  window  a 
little  while,  in  our  favorite  seat ;  I  have  been  sitting  there 
alone  tliis  evening,  thinking  how  very,  very  lonesome  I 
shall  be  while  you  are  away." 

They  sat  down  together  in  the  oriel  window,  at  one  end 
of  then-  room.  The  harvest  moon  showed  all  the  lovely 
landscape  around,  in  a  softened,  shadowy  light,  more 
beautiful  than  day,  and  as  its  radiance  fell  over  Julie's 
golden  curls  and  pure,  pale  brow,  her  husband  gazed  upon 
her  with  an  admiration  not  unmixed  with  feai- ;  for  that 
delicate  and  ethereal  beauty  seemed  almost  angelic. 

"Are  your  wings  growing,  Jidie  ?  "  he  whispered,  as  he 
drew  her  still  closer  to  his  breast.     "  You  look  so  spiiit- 


TRUE     UNION     ETEKNAL.  401 

ual  in  this  white  moonlight  that  I  am  half  afraid  you  "will 
fly  away  from  me." 

"  0,  never !  "  she  murmured  ;  "  if  God  takes  me,  — 
and  sometimes  I  think  he  will,  Charles,  by  and  by,  —  if  he 
takes  me  away  from  you,  he  won't  make  me  stay  in 
heaven  all  the  time,  and  leave  you  here  alone." 

"  Dear  child,  don't  talk  so,"  said  her  husband,  his  eyes 
filling  with  tears. 

"  I  must ;  I  want  to  now,  Charles,  because  you  are 
going  away,  and  if  any  thing  should  happen,  it  would  be 
a  comfort  to  know  that  I  had  told  you.  Even  now,  when 
we  are  parted,  when  we  cannot  see  each  other  for  some 
hours,  our  bodies  cannot  imprison  our  souls  so  that  they 
shall  not  commune  together  constantly ;  and  how  much 
closer  their  communion  would  be  if  one  of  us  was 
purely  spiritual !  Death  cannot  part  us,  darling ;  for 
when  I  am  an  angel,  I  can  always  be  Avith  you,  wher- 
ever you  are." 

"  Death  shall  not  part  us,"  said  her  husband,  with  ve- 
hement earnestness ;  "  but  O,  Julie  dear,  be  a  woman 
still.     Don't  be  an  angel." 

With  a  burst  of  weeping,  she  laid  her  head  on  his 
breast,  and  for  a  long  time  there  was  silence. 

"Don't  cry  any  more,  dear;  you  know  it  is  not  good 
for  you,"  said  Charles,  at  length,  as  he  Aviped  away  her 
tears. 

A  long  sob  heaved  her  breast,  but  she  turned  her  sweet 
34* 


402  CASTE. 

face  to  him  with  a  submissive  smile,  and,  as  a  child  might 
say  it,  she  said,  "  I  Avill  be  good." 

"  That's  right,  Julie,"  he  said  ;  "  and  you  know  you'll 
be  so  glad  when  I  come  home,  that  it  will  atone  for  the 
lonely  hours  of  my  absence." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  she  replied,  more  cheerfully;  "I  know 
I  ought  not  to  complain,  for  Ave  have  been  so  very  happy, 
and  this  is  the  first  cloud  that  has  overshadowed  us." 

"  And  even  the  clouds  have  silver  linings,  you  know. 
See  how  the  moonlight  penetrates  and  glorifies  the  one 
that  lies  yonder." 

Julie  looked  at  it  a  few  moments,  as  it  slowly  sailed 
along  the  midnight  sky,  and  then  she  said,  "  But  we 
never  see  the  silver  lining  of  the  clouds  until  the  storm 
has  passed." 

Charles  did  not  speak  for  a  little  while,  and  then  it  was 
thoughtfully,  as  if  rather  communing  with  himself  than 
replying  to  her. 

"  That  is  because  we  hide  ourselves,  and  do  not  look 
up  to  the  sky.  If  we  would  come  out  of  the  dark  places 
where  we  seek  shelter  from  the  storm,  and  dare  lift  up 
oux  heads  amid  its  fury,  we  should  perhaps  see  light  in 
the  darkness,  or  at  least  we  should  see  the  earliest  gleams 
of  brightness,  that  now  are  lost  to  us." 

"  Yours  is  a  cheerful  philosophy ;  but,  dear  Charles, 
■when  the  tempest  beats  upon  us,  how  can  we  help  bend- 
ing ourselves  to  the  ground,  and  bowing  our  heads,  and 
shutting  our  eyes  ?  " 


CHARLES     GOES     TO     HIS     FATE.  403 

"  It  is  hard  to  avoid  it,  I  know,  Julie  ;  and  sometimes 
we  do  not  open  our  eyes  again  when  the  fury  of  the  storm 
is  over,  and  so  we  do  not  see  the  hiight  prismatic  colors 
that  are  a  token  and  a  promise  to  us  from  our  covenant- 
keeping  God." 

Julie  laid  her  head  gently  down  again  on  his  shoulder, 
and  patting  his  face  with  her  soft  little  hand,  she  whis- 
pered reverently,  "  You  are  so  good  !  " 

"  It  is  getting  late,  little  Julie  ;  let  us  say  our  evening 
prayer." 

They  knelt  together,  and  the  still  night  threw  her  man- 
tle over  them  like  a  benediction.  0,  in  that  far-oflf  heaven, 
whence  the  solemn  stars  looked  down  so  calmly,  were 
there  no  angels,  whose  strong  arms  might  turn  aside  from 
that  hapless  pair  the  sword  of  doom,  even  then  uplifted 
to  smite  ? 

Alas !  inscrutable  are  the  ways  of  God.  Let  us  veil 
our  faces  before  his  omniscience ;  for  without  faith  the 
heart  grows  faint,  and  shrinks  back  from  the  vicissitudes 
of  human  life,  hopeless  and  horror-stricken. 


When  Charles  Dupre,  a  fortnight  after  this,  arrived  at 
Mr.  Warner's  house,  he  noticed  a  certain  eager  curiosity 
in  the  manners  of  the  servant  who  ushered  him  into  Mrs. 
Warner's  presence,  and  her  behavior  was  so  cold  and 
constrained,  so  unlike  what  it  had  been  when  on  a  former 


404  CASTE. 

occasion  he  had  visited  his  sister,  that  when,  she  told  him 
that  Helen  was  with  Mrs.  Avenel,  and  advised  him  to 
seek  her  there,  he  felt  sure  that  something  unpleasant 
had  occurred  to  separate  her  from  the  family  where  she 
had  lived  so  long.  He  left  the  house  full  of  anxiety, 
which  he  did  not  feel  at  liberty  to  express,  and  which  was 
increased  by  Mrs.  Avenel's  paleness  and  agitation,  when 
he  introduced  himself,  and  inquired  for  his  sister. 

"What  is  the  matter?  What  has  happened?"  he 
could  not  help  asking,  as  she  hurried  from  the  room ;  but 
she  felt  wholly  unable  to  tell  him  of  the  sorrow,  which 
involved  him  as  well,  and  hastened  to  inform  Helen  of  his 
arrival.  When  she  opened  the  door  of  her  room,  at  the 
sound  of  her  friend's  voice,  her  face  had  a  ghastly  pale- 
ness, and  with  her  long  black  hair  hanging  in  dishevelled 
masses  around  her,  she  appeared  like  a  mad  woman. 

"  Tell  him  to  come  up  here,"  she  said. 

"  Not  while  you  are  looking  so  ;  you  will  frighten 
him,"  replied  Mrs.  Avenel,  entreatingly. 

"  Tell  him  to  come  up  ;  I  want  him  Aere,"  she  repeat- 
ed, in  a  low,  hoarse  tone  ;  and  turning  away  without 
shutting  the  door,  she  sat  down  by  the  table,  leaning  her 
head  on  her  hand.  Mrs.  Avenel  lingered  a  few  moments, 
but  her  gentle  ministrations  were  imheeded,  and  bewil- 
dered and  fearful,  she  returned  to  the  parlor,  and  gave 
Charles  his  sister's  message.  He  arose  immediately,  and 
followed  her  up  stairs.  "You  will  find  her  in  great 
trouble  ;  I  am  very  glad  you  have  come  ;  we  were  about 


A    DKEADFUI,     SECRET.  405 

sending  for  you,"  she  found  courage  to  say,  just  before 
they  reached  the  door  of  Helen's  chamber  ;  and  then  she 
turned  away,  dreading  to  witness  that  meeting. 

Helen  had  crossed  her  arms  on  the  table,  and  leaning 
forward,  with  her  face  hidden  in  them,  her  hair  unbound 
and  sweeping  the  floor,  she  remained  motionless  until  he 
came  close  beside  her,  and  laid  his  hand  on  her  head. 
Then  she  looked  up,  and  he  started  back  with  an  excla- 
mation of  terror.  That  death-like  face,  those  pallid  lips, 
those  sunken,  glaring  eyes  !  Could  this  be  his  bright, 
beautiful  Helen  ? 

"My  sister,  what  has  happened?  "  he  cried.  "Is  Hu- 
bert dead  ?  But  no  ;  I  saw  his  mother.  Is  it  worse  than 
that  ?     Is  he  false  ?  " 

The  blood  that  had  seemed  to  be  congealed  about  her 
heart  rushed  like  a  fiery  flood  over  cheek  and  brow,  and 
she  answered,  in  a  sharp  whisper,  — 

"  Don't  speak  of  him,  —  don't.  But  it  is  not  he  ;  it  is 
something  worse  than  that.  I  could  have  borne  it,  if  it 
were  that  alone,  and  never  told  how  I  was  suff'ering." 

"  "SVhat  then  ?  O  Helen,  tell  me  !  It  is  dreadful  to 
find  you  thus  !  " 

But  she  seemed  not  to  hear  him.  An  expression  of 
bewilderment  and  anguish  passed  over  her  features,  and 
she  arose  slowly  to  her  feet,  holding  back  with  both  hands 
the  long  tresses  which  fell  like  a  veil  around  her  face,  and 
gazed  at  him  so  earnestly,  so  mournfully,  that  he  was 
more  than  ever  appalled.     When  she  had  stood  thus  a 


4oe 


moment  before  him,  erect  and  breathless,  she  sank  down 
again,  murmuring  hoarsely,  — 

"  And  you,  too  —  you  —  and  Julie  —  O  God,  was  not 
one  enough  ?  Why  must  he  suffer  also  ?  Why  must  he 
live  to  bear  this  woe  ?  " 

He  heard  her  but  indistinctly  ;  yet  her  wild  gestures 
told  how  suffering  had  unsettled  her  reason,  and  aroused 
an  awful  fear  in  his  heart.  Bending  over  her  with  en- 
dearing words,  he  pressed  his  lips  to  her  cheek,  which 
was  white  and  cold  as  the  cheek  of  the  dead.  "  Helen, 
darling,  why  was  I  not  sent  for  ?  "  he  whispered. 

"  O,  I  should  rather  ask  why  you  are  here  now.  My 
brother,  my  poor  brother,  go  away  and  leave  me.  Why 
should  you  be  involved  in  this  curse  ?  Go  aAvay,  and 
never  ask  the  cause  of  my  misery ;  never  seek  to  know 
my  fate.     Go  ;  and  then,  perchance,  you  may  be  happy." 

She  withdrew  her  hands,  and  turned  away,  beckoning 
him  to  leave  her ;  but  increasingly  shocked  and  surprised, 
he  followed  her  to  the  lounge  where  she  had  thrown  her- 
self, and  sitting  beside  her,  he  said,  anxiously,  "  You  do 
not  mean  this,  Helen.  You  cannot  dream  that  I  will 
leave  you  in  this  condition,  or  ask  no  explanation  of  its 
cause.  Tell  me  about  it.  Who  should  share  it  with  you, 
if  not  your  brother  ?  Perhaps  I  can  help  you.  It  may 
not  be  as  bad  as  you  think." 

"  O,  you  cannot  help  me,"  she  groaned.  "  Poor  boy, 
you  cannot  help  yourself." 

Still  he  persisted  in  his  inquiries  ;  and  almost  impatient 


PAKT     HUSBAXD    AND     AVIFE?  407 

in  her  misery,  slie  sat  up,  exclaiming,  "  Yon  don't  know 
what  you  ask.  You  cannot  bear  to  knoio  this  secret, 
which  concerns  you  as  much  as  it  does  me.  I  meant  you 
should  never  learn  it.  I  would  have  died,  that  it  might 
be  buried  with  me  ;  and  you  have  come  so  unexpectedly. 
Now  you  have  seen  to  what  it  has  brought  me,  be  warned, 
be  wise,  and  leave  me." 

Charles  turned  very  pale,  and  for  a  moment  he  did 
not  reply.  In  his  anxiety  for  his  sister,  he  had  not 
before  fully  heeded  her  assurance  that  the  trouble  which 
had  come  upon  her  would  affect  him  with  equal  force. 
But  when  he  spoke,  his  voice  was  firm  and  his  manner 
calm. 

"  If  it  is  as  you  say,  Helen,  it  is  your  duty  to  tell  me. 
Any  thing  which  can  bring  such  consequences  must  be 
known  sooner  or  later ;  and  even  if  I  was  willing,  it 
would  be  useless  for  you  to  send  me  away  in  ignorance. 
Do  not  keep  me  in  suspense,  for  that  is  worse  than  all." 

"  It  will  part  you  from  your  wfe  —  from  Julie.  Can 
you  endure  that  r  " 

"  From  Julie  !  It  cannot  be  !  She  is  mine  now  —  mv 
wife  ;  no  earthly  power  can  part  us,"  he  cried,  starting 
forward,  and  then  clasping  his  arms  tightly  over  his 
breast,  as  if  to  hold  her  there  forever. 

"  But  they  will  separate  you.  They  will  never  let  you 
have  her  when  they  know  all  —  never  !  never  !  —  when 
they  know  your  history  and  your  lineage." 


408 


"What!  what  is  it?"  he  exclaimed,  as  she  paused; 
"  for  Heaven's  sake  torture  me  no  longer.      Toll  me  all." 

"  You  are  a  mulatto.  Judge  if  Mr.  Conant  will  own 
you  for  a  son-in-law  !  We  are  mulattoes  ;  our  ancestors 
were  negroes  ;  our  mother  was  a  slave,  and  our  father 
was  — her  master." 

She  spoke  rapidly,  and  her  manner  was  abrupt  and 
stern,  as  if  every  nerve  and  muscle,  so  long  strained  to 
their  utmost  tension,  had  hardened  into  stone.  Even 
when  she  saw  him  stagger  and  sink  back,  like  one  bereft 
of  life,  she  did  not  move  from  her  rigid  position,  but  sat 
watching  him,  without  a  word,  as,  after  that  momentary 
faintness,  he  gradually  roused  himself  to  realize  the  truth 
of  what  she  had  told  him,  and  all  which  that  fatal 
truth  involved.  He  shrank  in  dismay  before  the  thoughts 
which  came  trooping  through  his  bewildered  brain.  His 
very  soul  seemed  crushed  and  dying  within  him,  and  a 
wild,  desperate  determination  possessed  him  to  awake  as 
from  a  nightmare  dream,  and  find  all  this  woe  a  vision. 
Standing  up,  he  paced  the  room  with  rapid,  uneven  steps, 
Aviinging  his  hands  together  Avith  a  strength  that  almost 
dislocated  them,  and  striking  his  head  ^^dth  his  clinched 
fists.  At  length  he  paused  suddenly  before  his  sister,  and 
looked  fixedly  in  her  face.  She  had  not  moved  or  spoken 
through  it  all,  and  now  she  returned  his  gaze  with  one 
that  gave  no  token  of  sympathy  or  pity. 

"  It  is  no  dream,"  he  said  wildly,  as  he  met  those  eyes 
whence  reason  seemed  to  have  fled.     "  It  is  no  dream  — 


THE     CUP     OF     LETHE.  409 

it  is  true  ;  you  must  have  been  sure  it  was  true,  before 
youi-  strong  soul  would  have  yielded  thus.  It  is  true  ; 
and  O,  tell  me,  Helen,  tell  me,  how  shall  we  escape  ? 
what  shall  we  do  ?  " 

He  seized  her  cold  and  rigid  hands,  and  with  an  im- 
passioned gesture,  drew  her  to  her  feet.  Her  stiffened 
lips  worked  a  moment  convulsively,  before  she  could 
sjjeak  ;  and  then  she  said,  with  a  ghastly  smile,  — 

"  I  was  just  opening  the  door  of  escape  when  you 
came  ;  I  waited  for  you.  Come  with  me,  brother.  There 
is  room  in  the  grave  for  both." 

She  led  him  to  the  table,  and  he  yielded  unresistingly  ; 
but  when  she  took  the  cup,  and  turning  again  with  that 
awful  smile,  held  it  to  his  lij^s,  the  spell  of  horror  which 
had  bound  him  was  broken.  He  clutched  it  eagerly,  and 
then  there  came  a  sudden  reaction  of  feeling,  and  terrified 
at  the  murderous  temptation,  he  fell  on  his  knees  and 
burst  into  tears.  The  cloud  cleared  from  his.brain  ;  the 
religious  faith  and  hope  wliich  was  the  habit  of  his  life 
retui-ned,  and  with  a  shuddering  cry,  he  called  on  Heaven 
for  aid. 

His  sister  still  held  the  cup,  and  looked  down  on  him 
for  a  while  with  the  same  frozen  glare  ;  but  by  degrees 
the  sound  of  his  low,  distressful  moans,  and  his  half- 
uttered  words,  seemed  to  pierce  her  dull  ear,  and  rouse 
her  to  a  sense  of  pity.  She  sat  down  in  a  chair  be- 
side him,  and  drawing  him  towards  her,  laid  his  head 
35 


410 


on  her  bosom,  and  smoothed  back  his  dark  hair  with 
the  same  caressing  touch  that  used  to  calm  him  when 
a  boy. 

"  Dear  Charles,"  she  said,  at  length,  in  a  softer  tone 
—  "poor  brother,  you  cannot  bear  it;  I  knew  you  could 
not.  It  is  too  hard.  There  is  no  room  for  us  in  all  this 
world.  There  is  no  need  of  us.  Let  us  hide  our  shame 
in  the  grave." 

As  she  spoke  she  held  the  cup  again  to  his  lips  ;  but 
now  the  first  overwhelming  shock  of  this  woe  was  past, 
and  he  was  conscious  of  a  strength  his  sister  had  not. 
It  was  the  strength  of  submission  —  the  courage  of  faith. 
He  took  the  cup  gently  from  her  hands,  and  still  holding 
it,  he  said,  "  Helen,  do  you  know  what  you  are  doing  ? 
This  is  murder." 

"  It  is  escape  —  it  is  rest ;  rest  from  this  Aveary  pain. 
O  Charles,  why  should  we  not  drink  it  ?  It  is  so  dread- 
ful to  live  !  Born  of  the  despised  race,  —  the  accursed 
race,  —  what  hope  is  there  for  us  in  this  world  ?  Cast 
out,  to  be  trodden  under  foot,  —  the  Pariahs  of  the  earth 
from  its  creation  until  now,  —  where  did  our  race  ever 
find  sympathy  or  help  ?  Where  can  wc  find  it,  any 
more  ?  " 

Her  voice  was  low  and  faint,  and  she  dropped  her  face 
wearily  on  her  brother's  head,  which  still  rested  against 
her  bosom.  He  clasped  his  arms  more  tightly  around 
her  ;  and  she  needed  his  support,  for  she  was  sinking  with 
exhaustion. 


FAITH     THE     SUSTAINEK.  411 

"  O,  to  sleep  !  to  sleep !  "  she  murmured  ;  "  to  sleep, 
and  not  to  dream,  and  never  more  to  wake  !  This  life  is 
too  dark  —  too  cruel  for  such  as  we  are  :  there  is  no  hope 
or  refuge  left  for  us." 

"  God  is  our  refuge  and  strength  —  a  very  present 
help  in  trouble,"  said  Charles,  solemnly  repeating  the 
words  which  the  voice  within  his  soul  had  been  whis- 
pering through  all  the  tumult  of  his  thoughts,  with  a 
power  to  sustain  and  cheer.  But  Helen  only  answered, 
more  hopelessly  than  before,  — 

"  God  has  forgotten  us  —  he  mocks  at  our  misery  —  he 
cares  for  us  no  more." 

"  O  Helen,  hush  !  "  said  her  brother,  roused  almost 
to  forgetfulness  of  himself  in  his  desire  to  comfort  her. 
"  Dear  Helen,  God  is  good.  He  has  permitted  this  to 
come  upon  us,  and  he  will  give  us  strength  to  bear  it. 
Like  yourself,  I  shudder  to  look  into  the  future,  for  we 
cannot  tell  what  is  before  us  ;  but  I  know  —  I  know  our 
Father  in  heaven  will  not  forsake  us.  His  hand  will 
lead  us  every  step  of  the  way,  and  if  we  lean  upon  it,  it 
will  guide  us  safely  through.  We  may  be  cut  off  from 
all  happiness  or  help  in  this  world,  but  in  the  world  to 
come  is  our  everlasting  portion;  and  our  joy,  our  help, 
our  comfort  will  come  from  God." 

But  Helen  only  shook  her  head  with  a  sad  smile,  and 
again  held  out  her  hand  for  the  deadly  draught.  This 
sublime  faith  —  this  hope  not  born  of  earth  —  found  rtf^ 


412  CASTE. 

echo  in  her  soul.  He  saw  it,  and  had  recourse  to  other 
arguments.  He  spoke  of  the  meanness  of  thus  cowardly 
escaping  from  life  and  its  burdens,  and  the  glory,  and 
strength,  and  stern  joy  of  the  courageous  soul  which 
triumphs  over  circumstances,  and  turns  the  course  of 
destiny ;  but  it  was  in  vain.  The  thoughts  which  once 
Avould  have  stirred  her  like  the  trumpet  call  to  combat, 
had  now  no  power  over  her  crushed  spirit.  But  when 
he  spoke  of  himself,  and  the  trials  and  struggles  of  his 
future  life,  —  when  he  referred,  in  brief,  tremulous  words, 
to  the  dreary  loneliness  of  his  lot,  should  Julie  be  forced 
to  leave  him,  and  entreated  her  to  live  for  him  who 
might  henceforth  have  no  other  earthly  friend,  —  her  stern, 
desperate  grief  yielded  to  the  gush  of  early  recollections 
and  the  love  which  had  from  infancy  been  the  strongest 
passion  of  her  soul.  Her  bosom  heaved  convulsively,  and 
her  glazed  eyes  gi-ew  moist  as  she  threw  her  arms  around 
him,  exclaiming,  — 

"  O  Charles,  if  you  must  live,  I  A\ill.  For  your  sake 
I  can  do  any  thing." 

Her  brother  folded  her  close  in  his  arms,  and  she 
felt  his  tears    drop   on  her  lips  and  brow. 

"  Promise  me,"  he  whispered,  "  that  you  will  never 
do  this  again  —  you  will  never  yield  to  this  temptation 
of  death." 

"  I  will  promise,"  she  answered  in  a  submissive  tone, 
and  for  a  moment  lay  quite  still  upon  his  breast.     Then, 


KELIEF     IX     TEARS.  :5tt3 

suddenly  springing  up,  she  seized  the  cup,  flung  it,  with 
its  contents,  far  out  the  open  window,  and  throwing 
herself  at  full  length  upon  the  sofa,  broke  into  a  pas- 
sionate flood  of  tears  —  the  first  she  had  shed  for  many 
days. 

35* 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-SECOND 


"  So  fade,  fade  on !    Thy  gift  of  love  shall  cling, 
A  coiling  sadness,  round  thy  heart  and  brain, 
A  silent,  fruitless,  yet  undying  thing, 

All  sensitive  to  pain  I 
And  still  the  shadow  of  vain  dreams  shall  fall 
O'er  thy  mind's  world,  a  daily  darkening  pall." 


Mrs.  Avenei,  heard  the  sound  of  Helen's  low  sobbing, 
and  fearful  that  excessive  emotion  might  induce  another 
hemorrhage,  ventured  to  intrude  upon  the  brother  and 
sister  in  their  solitude.  But  the  tears,  which  fell  like 
rain,  seemed  to  soften  and  relieve  the  oppressed  heart  of 
the  unhappy  girl,  and  her  brother's  presence  enabled  her 
to  realize  that  she  was  not  wholly  desolate  and  without 
protection.  She,  being  older  than  Charles,  and  in  some 
sort  the  guardian  of  his  youth,  had  never  before  thought 
of  him  except  as  a  sharer  in  her  sorrows,  and  an  additional 
cause  of  grief  in  that  he  shared  them. 

But  now  he  was  the  sustainer,  the  comforter  ;  and  she 
began  to  feel  that  the  sole  thing  around  which  the  tendrils 
of  her  womanly  love  could  cling  might  be  also  a  support 
in  this  hour  of  utmost  need.  She  could  not  understand 
rightly  the  source  whence  his  courage  sprang,  and  she 
smiled  piteously  when  his  pale,  quivering  lips  essayed  to 

(414) 


CHAKLES     HEAES     OF     HIS     JIOTHER.       415 

utter  words  of  hope  and  cheer ;  but  it  was  something  to 
know  that  his  \-ision  could  discern  a  light  in  the  distance, 
glimmering  through  the  darkness,  which  seemed  to  her 
Cimmerian  ;  and  that,  amid  the  hiss  of  scorn  from  a  dis- 
dainful Avorld,  which  had  been  for  days  sounding  in  her 
ears,  he  could  distinguish  a  voice  spealdng  of  encourage- 
ment and  honor. 

By  degrees  her  sobs  grew  less  convulsive,  and  her  face 
lost  the  expression  it  had  worn  of  a  hard  and  wordless 
misery,  which  had  nearly  destroyed  her  reason.  Charles's 
first  wish  was,  of  course,  to  know  the  particulars  they  had 
learned  respecting  his  birth  and  his  early  days,  his  mother 
and  his  father. 

Mrs.  Avenel  told  the  storv ;  but  so  tenderly,  so  deli- 
cately, with  such  consideratioa  lor  the  strange  and  pecu- 
liar circumstances  which  had  led  to  this  catastrophe,  that 
if  Colonel  Bell  had  hear  i  her,  he  would  have  blessed  her 
with  a  grateful  heart.  She  was  naturally  full  of  sett^'- 
ment,  and  her  compass,,  n  and  sympathy  were  not  confined 
to  her  own  class.  There  was  much  to  blame,  but  there 
was  more  to  pity,  and  the  latter  was  lar  easier  for  her  to 
do  than  the  former. 

Helen  found  her  hatred  and  anger  against  her  father 
subsiding  as  she  listened  ;  and  Charles,  when  he  could 
command  himself  enough  to  speak,  asked,  in  a  tone  almost 
affectionate,  — 

"  Where  is  this  Colonel  Bell  ?  I  should  like  to  see  him. 
He  seems  to  have  had  right  intentions,  though  his  plans 


416  CASTE. 

for  our  good  have  failed  so  unfortunately.  Does  h.e  come 
here  to  see  Helen  r  " 

"  He  has  been  here  several  times  since  her  illness,  and 
expresses  great  anxiety  about  her,  but  he  has  never  asked 
to  see  her  since " 

"  Since  when  ?  "  Charles  inquired,  as  she  hesitated. 

"  Since  the  first  day  Helen  came  here.  I  must  own  that 
there  is  something  mysterious  about  his  course ;  and 
though  I  cannot  help  being  moved  by  his  haggard  face, 
whenever  I  look  at  him,  I  cannot  justify  him." 

"  What  has  he  done  ?  " 

"  The  truth  is  this,"  said  Helen,  abruptly.  "  That  first 
day,  in  the  first  shock  of  hearing  this,  my  whole  soul 
revolted  against  the  expressions  of  afiection  which  he 
used.  I  saw  that  he  felt  sorry  for  me,  but  I  could  not 
believe  his  sorrow  was  genuine.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
he  came  there  and  stretched  me  on  a  rack,  and  then  stood 
by  pretending  to  pity  my  sufferings.  I  couldn't  see  why, 
as  he  had  kept  the  secret  so  long,  he  could  not  then  deny 
the  report,  if  he  reaUy  cared  for  me.  After  committing 
so  many  sins,  one  sin  more  wouldn't  have  signified  much. 
I  see  you  snule,  Charles.  Of  course  I  know  he  could  not 
deny,  when  asked  directly,  as  he  was  by  Mr.  Warner  ;  and 
by  what  he  told  Mrs.  Avenel  I  suppose  he  knew  the 
secret  was  in  other  hands,  which  would  not  have  held  it 
tight,  if  his  did  ;  and  so  denial  was  useless.  But  then  I 
was  unreasonable  in  my  misery ;  and  I  think  I  was  harsh 
to  him,  and  let  him  see  how  I  hated  and  scorned  him,  and 


COLO^TEL     bell's     LETTER.  417 

that  I  wished  never  to  see  him  more.  He  was  ofFended,  I 
suppose  ;  for  the  next  day  he  insulted  me." 

"  O  Helen,  after  taking  all  this  trouble  for  us,  coxild 
he  be  so  hard-hearted  !  "  exclaimed  her  brother. 

"  I  cannot  help  thinking  there  was  some  mistake  or  — 
something  worse  —  about  that  letter,"  said  Mrs.  Avenel. 
"  The  more  I  think  of  it,  the  more  I  am  at  a  loss  to  rec- 
oncile it  with  his  conduct  since.  I  must  explain  to  you, 
Mr.  Dupre,  that  the  morning  after  Helen  came  here. 
Colonel  Bell's  servant  brought  a  letter,  which  was  di- 
rected to  her,  at  Mrs.  Warner's  ;  but  finding  her  here,  he 
brought  it  over.  When  we  opened  it,  we  found  nothing 
but  a  bill  for  twenty  dollars,  without  Mord  of  any  kind  on 
the  paper  which  enveloped  it.  Of  course  we  could  only 
conclude  that  he  was  angry,  and  intended  to  signify  he 
would  give  her  that  pittance  and  leave  her  to  take  care 
of  herself,  as  she  had  intimated  to  him  she  intended 
doing  ;  and  we  resented  the  insult.  But  that  very  even- 
ing the  colonel  rode  over  here  to  inquire  for  her,  and 
was  so  sad  and  agitated,  that  I  had  a  great  mind  to  ask 
for  some  explanation.  Still,  as  he  inquired  about  the 
letter  without  making  any,  I  hardly  liked  to  do  so.  In 
fact,  I  did  not  know  what  I  ought  to  do  —  I  am  not  fit  to 
manage  these  afiairs  ;  "  and  she  sighed,  gently. 

"  Poor  Mrs.  Avenel !  you  will  be  glad  when  we  are 
gone  ;  I  have  been  a  great  care  to  you,  I  know,"  said 
Helen,  in  a  tone  of  self-reproach. 


418  C  ASIE  . 

je  "  0^  no?  dear  !  only  I  am  afraid  I  haven't  managed  just 
right  about  this  matter,"  Mrs.  Avenel  replied,  eagerly. 

"  You  have  been  my  only  friend ;  I  can  never  repay 
your  kindness,"  said  Helen,  mournfully ;  and  again  her 
tears  flowed. 

"  But  I  may  have  made  a  mistake  here.  Do  you  think 
so,  Mr.  Dupre  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Avenel,  wiping  her  eyes. 

"  I  think  there  must  have  been  a  mistake  somewhere," 
he  answered.  "  If  Colonel  Bell  had  intended  to  insult 
you,  or  even  to  show  anger,  he  would  not  have  manifested 
kindness  since  then ;  and  his  previous  conduct  hardly 
makes  it  probable.  If  he  has  any  real  affection  for  us  — 
for  you,  whom  he  knows  better  than  he  does  me  —  he 
must  suffer  inexpressible  mortification  and  pain  in  tliink- 
ing  of  all  he  has  brought  upon  us  ;  and  we  must  not  refuse 
to  pardon  him,"  he  added,  with  a  deep  sigh  and  a  faltering 
voice.     "  I  must  see  him  when  he  conies  again,  Helen." 

"  I  fear  you  cannot  see  him  at  present,"  said  Mrs. 
Avenel,  "  for  he  has  not  been  here  this  w^eek  ;  and  yester- 
day I  received  a  letter  from  him,  dated  at  Charleston, 
stating  that  he  had  been  obliged  to  go  there  on  business, 
and  Clara  had  accompanied  him.  They  have  been  away 
together  most  of  the  summer.  He  inquires  for  you,  too, 
Helen,  dear.     Here  is  the  letter." 

Helen  took  it,  and  when  she  read  the  warm  expressions 
of  interest  in  her,  she  was  as  much  puzzled  as  her  friend 
had  been  to  reconcile  what  seemed  so  contradictory. 

Then  they  talked  of  themselves,  touching  lightly  on 


PREPARING     TO     TRAVEL.  419 

the  future,  wliicli  might  prove  so  painful,  but  lingering  on 
their  present  situation,  and  consulting  as  to  what  it  was 
best  for  them  to  do.  Charles  was  anxious  to  return  im- 
mediately, and  take  Helen  along  with  him,  to  the  north  ; 
and  still  he  hesitated.  He  dreaded  to  have  any  rumor 
reach  his  wife  or  her  family  which  might  cause  them  to 
think  he  had  withheld  the  truth,  and  yet  he  feared  to 
have  Julie  excited  and  troubled  in  her  present  state  of 
health ;  and  if  she  saw  Helen's  grief-worn  face,  she  must 
know  what  had  happened.  Mrs.  Avenel  could  not  con- 
scientiously urge  Helen  to  remain  with  her,  for,  under- 
standing that  her  marriage  with  Hubert  was  impossible, 
she  thought  it  best  for  them  both  to  be  wdely  separated ; 
and,  as  his  severe  illness  would  detain  him  a  long  time  in 
the  neighborhood,  she  must  leave  it,  if  she  would  regain 
any  degree  of  calmness  and  peace. 

And  Helen  was  eager  to  leave.  She  begged  her  brother 
to  start  for  home  the  next  morning,  assuring  him  she  would 
be  ready,  and  that  journeying  was  the  only  thing  which 
could  improve  her  health,  either  of  body  or  mind. 

"  Julie  need  not  see  me,"  she  said  —  "  need  not  know 
that  I  went  back  -wdth  you.  You  can  leave  me  in  New 
York.  It  is  uncertain  where  you  may  yourself  be,  when 
you  have  seen  Mr.  Conant  and  told  him  all." 

"  Why  need  he  be  told  ?  why  need  any  thing  be  said 
about  it  at  present  ?  "  suggested  Mrs.  Avenel.  "  Why 
not  wait  until  the  announcement  will  not,  at  least,  be 
attended  with  danarer." 


420  CASTE. 

An  expression  of  intense  pain  crossed  diaries' s  face, 
when  he  heard  their  words  ;  but  now  he  replied,  — 

"  That  cannot  be.  I  might  hide  it  from  Julie,  if  it 
were  thought  best ;  but  I  cannot  deceive  her  parents  whUe 
I  live  under  their  roof.  They  must  know  it,  and  I  will 
be  guided  by  their  counsel  in  regard  to  their  daughter. 
I  must  retain  my  own  self-respect.  I  could  not  bear  to 
feel  that  I  was  imposing  a  false  character  upon  them,  and 
receiving  consideration  which  might  not  be  given  if  the 
truth  were  known." 

"  No,"  said  Helen,  "  we  are  low  enough  now.  We  will 
not  be  impostors." 

"  I  can't  think  any  body  will  respect  you  less  than  if 
your  circumstances  were  different.     You  know,  — 

'  A  man's  a  man  for  a'  that,' " 

said  Mrs.  Avenel,  making  a  faint  attempt  at  encourage- 
ment. 

"Nobody  ought,  perhaps  —  but  every  body  will,"  said 
Helen,  bitterly.  "  It  is  useless  to  try  to  shut  our  eyes  to 
the  fact.  You  know  how  widely  spread  and  how  deeply 
rooted  is  the  prejudice  against  color.  You  know  how 
every  one  shrinks  from  the  least  taint  of  the  dishonored 
blood ;  how  at  the  north,  as  well  as  here,  people  with 
dark  skins  are  despised,  if  the  shade  is  taken  from  the 
negro  race :  if  it  comes  from  the  Spaniard  or  the  South 
American  it  does  well  enough.  It  galls  me  to  think 
of   it,  but    yet   I    have    no    right   to   blame   others.     I 


GOD,     "A     rUESENT     HELP."  421 

have  felt  so  myself,  and  because  I  once  felt  so  —  nay, 
because  I  feel  so  at  this  moment  —  I  know  how  we  shall 
be  scorned  wherever  we  are  known.  O,  why,  why  were  we 
reserved  for  this  misery  ?  Were  there  not  unhappy  beings 
enough  on  earth  before  ?  " 

"  Hush,  Helen,"  said  her  brother ;  "  mourn,  if  you 
will,  but  do  not  repine." 

"  I  will  repine,  I  will  rebel,"  she  said,  vehemently. 
"  There  is  no  right  nor  justice  here  —  none,  at  least,  for 
us.  Don't  think  you  can  deceive  me,  Charles.  Your 
very  patience  is  more  pitiful  than  if  you  sobbed  and 
moaned  as  I  do  ;  and  I  know  how  the  slow  heart-breaking 
will  wear  you  down.  You  do  not  realize  it  now  ;  it  is  too 
new.  Wait  till  you  have  borne  it  for  three  long,  lono- 
weeks  —  borne  it  alone  and  helplessly." 

"  I  shall  not  bear  it  alone,"  replied  her  brother,  fixing 
his  sad  eyes  on  her  face  with  an  earnest  and  solemn  ex- 
pression. 

"  Do  you  think  I  can  help  you  ?  0,  if  I  could,  this 
sorrow  would  be  robbed  of  half  its  weight.  Do  you 
hope  to  have  Julie  with  you  ?  " 

"  I  was  not  thinking  of  you,  nor  of  her ;  yet  I  shall 
have  help,"  he  answered,  in  a  strangely  quiet  tone,  though 
his  lips  trembled  as  he  spoke  of  his  wife. 

"Who  will  help  you,  then?  "  she  asked,  wonderingly. 

"  God." 

The  word  came  reverently,  yet  Avith  a  confidence  that 
36 


422  CASTE. 

told  how  entire  was  his  faith,  and  how  strong  was  its 
power  to  uphold. 

Helen's  passionate  murmuring  was  quelled,  as  this  con- 
viction passed  into  her  soid  ;  and  with  an  inward  prayer 
that  help  and  comfort  might  be  given  to  her  also,  Mrs. 
Avenel  stole  gently  away,  and  left  them  together. 

Helen  had  been  silent  respecting  Hubert,  and  Charles 
could  not  bring  himself  to  ask  any  questions  which  it 
might  pain  her  to  answer.  But  as  he  sat  with  Mrs. 
Avenel  that  evening,  after  Helen's  worn  fi-ame  had  found 
repose  in  sleep,  he  ventured  to  make  the  inquiry  which, 
from  the  first,  had  been  waiting  for  utterance. 

Mrs.  Avenel  shook  her  head,  thoughtfully.  "  I  cannot 
quite  make  it  out,"  she  said.  "  Hubert  Warner  has  been 
here  again  and  again,  begging  and  praying  me  to  allow 
him  an  interview  with  Helen,  and  talking  wildly  of  re- 
morse, and  a  desire  to  obtain  from  her  some  word  of  par- 
don. At  first,  she  was  too  ill;  and  since  she  became 
strong  enough  to  bear  the  interview,  she  has  steadily  de- 
nied it ;  though  I  confess  I  urged  her  to  see  him,  for  I 
feared  it  would  end  as  it  did." 
"  How  did  it  end  ?  " 

"  He  is  very  ill  with  brain  fever.  For  several  days 
they  considered  his  case  critical,  and  even  now  he  is  not 
out  of  danger.  I  suppose  it  all  arises  from  his  excite- 
ment and  distress." 

"  Does  Helen  know  it  ?  " 

"  She  does  not.    1  had  no  courage  to  tell  her.     I  knew 


HELEN     INFLEXIBLE.  •438 

it  might  produce  an  agitation  which  would  be  fatal.  It 
was  easy  to  keep  it  from  her,  for  she  has  never  left  her 
chamber,  and  makes  no  inquiries." 

"  But  does  she  not  wonder  that  she  hears  nothing  from 
him  ?  —  that  he  has  given  her  up  so  easily  ?  " 

"  I  think  not ;  several  notes  passed  between  them,  and 
the  last  time  he  came  here,  when  he  had  read  one  she  gave 
me  for  him,  he  broke  out  into  such  an  incoherent  strain 
of  self-reproach,  and  protestations  of  love  for  her,  that  I 
grew  almost  frightened,  and  insisted  she  should  see  him. 
But  she  was  more  decided  than  ever,  and  at  length  said 
to  me,  '  Pray  don't  mention  this  again,  if  you  Avould  not 
see  me  more  than  ever  miserable.'  " 

"  '  What  shall  I  tell  Mm,  then  ? '  "  said  I. 

"  '  Tell  him  I  will  forget  every  thing  but  our  early  dream 
of  love,  which  seemed  so  true  ;  but  I  cannot  sec  him.  I 
have  not  strength  to  look  iipon  his  face,  and  Jiear  his 
voice.' 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  the  expression  of  her  face  as  she 
spoke,"  continued  Mrs.  Avenel.  "  Tliorc  was  so.Ticthiug 
in  it  which  convinced  me  I  did  not  understand  all  the 
mystery  that  passed  beneath  my  eyes,  and  I  determined 
never  to  urge  her  again  in  his  behalf.  It  was  noble  in 
Helen  to  be  so  firm,  since  she  knew  it  was  best  they 
should  not  meet  again ;  but  I  could  not  help  regretting 
the  suffering  it  caused  her  lover.  He  went  away  like  a 
man  distracted,  and  the  next  morning  they  found  him  in 
a  rajrins  fever." 


424 


"  She  always  had  great  decision  of  character,"  said 
Charles,  thoughtfully  ;  "  but  why  do  you  suppose  that 
Hubert  uttered  so  many  expressions  of  self-reproach  ? 
He  was  not  to  blame,  for  this  trouble." 

"  But  at  the  first,  you  know,  he  might  have  shrank 
from  her,  in  the  dismay  of  this  discovery,"  she  answered, 
hesitating  and  blushing ;  "  and  perhaps  his  late  repentance 
could  not  heal  the  w'ound  a  sudden  Avord  made  then." 

Charles  did  not  reply,  for  the  train  of  thought  her 
words  had  awakened  tortured  his  inmost  soul.  Why  did 
Hubert  Warner  shrink  from  one  to  whom  he  had  sworn 
such  deathless  love  ?  And  why  must  even  gentle  Mrs. 
Avenel  think  it  was  best  the  lovers  should  not  meet 
again  ?  Ah,  it  was  then  as  Helen  had  said.  She  was  an 
outcast ;  and  he,  her  brother,  shared  the  doom  which  cut 
her  off  from  the  sweet  household  charities,  the  loves,  the 
joys,  the  hopes,  which  had  been  the  delight  of  all  their 
former  days.  And  Julie  —  he  did  not  wrong  her  so  much 
as  to  suppose  she  could  leave  him ;  but  Avould  not  she, 
too,  be  compelled  to  share  the  scorn  and  insult  of  his  lot, 
if  she  remained  with  him  ?  or  might  she  not  be  torn  from 
him  by  the  strong  and  ruthless  hands  of  those  who  would 
scorn  him  ?  He  thought  of  her  father's  often  expressed 
prejudices,  and  groaned  aloud  in  anguish  of  spirit. 

Mrs.  Avenel  had  little  to  offer  of  hope  or  consolation ; 
but  her  Christian  sympathy  was  soothing  to  one  Avho 
could  as  well  as  herself  look  beyond  the  trials  of  this  life, 
or  the  secondary  causes  which  seem  to  produce  them,  to 


SrORTHWAKD.  425 

the  sovereign  hand  which  ordains  all  things,  and  can 
uphold  while  it  chastens ;  which  holds  the  balances  of 
good  and  evil,  and  has  the  inconceivable  riches  of  eternity 
wherewith  to  recompense  for  the  transitory  treasures  of 
time.  But  his  heart  was  very,  very  heavy,  and  full  of 
anxiety,  and  racked  with  pain,  and  no  sleep  came  to  his 
weary  eyelids.  The  gray  dawn,  as  it  broke  dull  and 
slowly  in  the  cloudy  sky,  found  him  still  at  prayer,  -wres- 
tling, as  he  had  wrestled  all  night,  with  this  strong  Angel 
of  Sorrow,  who  would  not,  alas  !  depart  with  the  morning 
light. 

But  Helen  aAvoke  much  calmer  than  before,  if  not  less 
sad.  The  crisis  of  dangerous  excitement  had  passed,  and 
her  eyes  had  lost  the  unnatural  glare  which  looked  like 
insanity.  She  was  very  weak  and  pale,  but  she  insisted 
upon  immediately  commencing  her  journey ;  and  as 
Charles  was  anxious  to  depart,  Mrs.  Avenel  did  not  op- 
pose her  desire. 

She  would  have  accompanied  her,  but  Helen  would  not 
allow  it ;  for  she  was  uncertain  where  she  might  think  it 
best  to  remain,  and  she  felt  that  the  presence  even  of  * 
friend  would  be  irksome.  She  declared  she  was  well 
enough  and  strong  enough  to  take  care  of  herself,  and, 
with  many  misgivings,  Mrs.  Avenel  bade  her  a  weeping 
farewell,  and  watched  the  carriage  as  it  drove  off  to  take 
them  to  the  railway  station. 

Few  words  passed  between  them  during  the  journey 
36* 


4^  CASTE. 

to  the  city  ;  but  as  the  cars  sped  along,  they  saw  the  pine 
forests  Avhirl  by  as  in  a  dream ;  for  the  thoughts  of  one 
were  far  away  in  the  happy  home,  where  soon  the  shadow 
of  grief  must  fall ;  and  the  other  recalled,  with  an  aching 
regret  and  a  mocking  pity  for  her  own  blindness,  the  half- 
formed  hopes  and  dim  visions  which  had  flitted  through 
her  mind  when  last  she  passed  that  Avay. 

When  they  arrived  at  C ,  the  wind  was  rising, 

and  the  clouds,  that  had  all  day  obscured  the  sunshine, 
were  growing  heavy  and  dark.  Charles  left  his  sister  a 
few  moments,  while  he  went  to  look  after  the  luggage, 
and  Avhen  he  returned  he  found  her  leaning  against  the 
■v\indow,  looking  very  pale  and  much  agitated. 

"  I  don't  know  that  we  had  better  take  the  boat  to- 
night," he  said ;  "  there  is  every  indication  of  a  violent 
storm." 

But  apparently  she  did  not  hear  him;  for,  without 
replying,  she  grasped  his  arm  nervously,  and  seemed 
endeavoring  to  direct  his  attention  to  a  gentleman  who 
stood  near,  Avith  his  back  towards  them. 

"  What  is  it  r  "  said  Charles,  not  understanding  her. 

"  Look  !  that  gentleman !  it  is  Colonel  Bell,"  she  an- 
swered ;  and  low  as  were  her  tones,  they  caught  the  ear 
of  the  person  to  whom  she  referred.  He  started,  turned 
quickly  around,  and  though  he  could  not  see  Helen's  face 
through  her  thick  veil,  he  recognized  her,  and  knew  who 
was  her  companion.  There  was  a  moment  of  painful  in- 
decision, as  he  and  Charles  looked  fixedly  on  each  other ; 


TATHER     AND     CHILDREN.  427- 

and  then  involuntarily,  almost  unconsciously,  Colonel  Bell 
held  out  his  hand  to  his  son,  but  without  moving  from 
the  pillar,  against  which  he  leaned  as  if  rooted  to  the  spot. 

His  paleness  and  visible  agitation  attracted  the  atten- 
tion of  two  or  three  in  the  crowd  that  was  hurrying 
through  the  spacious  saloon,  who  half  paused  to  give  him 
a  second  glance ;  and  a  newsboy,  thinking  he  wanted  a 
paper,  thrust  one  into  his  hand,  with  the  stereotyped  cry, 
"Thrip,  sir;  only  thrip,  sir;  two  for  fourpence."  This 
roused  him  to  remember  where  he  was,  and  in  another 
instant  he  was  calm  and  self-possessed,  and  his  hesitation 
gone,  in  the  resolve  to  make  one  more  effort  to  win  what 
he  had  well  nigh  lost. 

He  came  forward  with  his  usual  manner,  and  grasped 
the  unresisting  hand  of  each. 

"This  is  Charles and  Helen,"  he  said.     "Where 

were  you  going? " 

"  We  are  on  our  way  home,"  Charles  replied. 

"  Don't  go  any  farther  to-night ;  a  storm  is  approach- 
ing, and  your  sister  has  been  very  ill.  Come  to  my 
hotel  until  to-morrow." 

He  looked  at  Helen  anxiously  as  he  spoke,  for  she  was 
leaning  back  against  the  wall  as  if  fainting,  and  the  next 
instant  her  brother  caught  her  lifeless  form,  as  it  was  sink- 
ing slowly  to  the  floor.  The  fatigue  of  her  journey,  and 
the  agitation  of  this  unexpected  meeting,  had  overcome 
her   enfeebled   frame ;    but  it  was   not  long   before  she 


428  c  A  s  I E  . 

revived  sufficiently  to  be  able  to  enter  a  carriage,  which 
drove  to  the  hotel  Colonel  Bell  had  named. 

They  had  no  choice  now  about  continuing  their  jour- 
ney ;  for  during  their  delay  the  boat  had  left  the  pier,  and 
they  silently  acquiesced  in  the  arrangements  which  had 
been  made  for  them. 

The  colonel  did  not  ride  in  the  carriage  with  them,  but 
in  another,  which  arriving  before  theirs,  they  found  him 
waiting  to  receive  them  on  the  steps  of  the  hotel.  He 
said  very  little,  but  his  courteous  and  respectful  manner 
had  in  it  an  anxious  tenderness,  which  told  far  more  than 
words.  Helen  soon  retired  to  her  own  room,  and  with 
great  delicacy  he  refrained  from  intruding  upon  her  in  any 
way ;  but  Charles,  who  desired  an  explanation  and  an 
acquaintance  as  much  as  his  father  did,  found  a  note  from 
him  on  the  table  in  his  chamber,  when  he  Avent  thither, 
after  taking  tea  with  his  sister.  An  interview  between 
them  followed,  in  which  all  misunderstandings  were  made 
clear,  and  the  father  and  son  grew  into  a  thoughtful  and 
sad,  yet  friendly  cognizance  of  all  that  each  wished  to 
know  of  the  other. 

But  it  was  towards  Helen  that  her  father's  heart  turned 
most  fondly.  Her  extraordinary  resemblance  to  the  lost 
Gorilla  invested  his  affection  for  her  with  much  of  the 
enthusiasm  and  romance  which  attended  that  episode  in 
his  life,  and  clothed  the  thought  of  her  with  something  of 
the  sacred  fervor  wherewith  he  had  so  long  worshipped 
the  memory  of  the  dead.    The  circumstances  under  which 


A     SAD     REUNION.  429 

he  had  met  her  after  many  years  of  absence,  the  dread 
he  experienced  lest  the  catastrophe  which  had  occurred 
shoukl  happen,  had  augmented  his  interest  in  her  ;  and  as 
he  saw  more  and  more  of  her  genius  and  accomplishments 
during  their  summer  tour,  he  had  been  conscious  of  a 
warmth  of  admiration  and  affection  which  made  her  hap- 
piness the  chief  desire  of  his  life.  This  he  had  failed  to 
secure  —  miserably  failed  ;  and  his  poignant  regret  and 
anxiety  had  deepened  the  furrows  in  his  brow,  and  scat- 
tered the  silver  hairs  more  thickly  amid  his  thin  locks ; 
but  the  suffering  he  endured  only  served  to  make  her 
dearer.  When  Helen  saw  him  the  next  morning,  she 
was  surprised  to  notice  how  old  and  care-worn  he  appeared, 
and  she  could  no  longer  refuse  to  believe  that  he  also  had 
been  involved  in  a  strange  net  of  circumstances,  from  which 
there  was  no  escape,  and  that  he  had  grieved  scarcely  less 
than  herself  over  the  "wnreck  of  her  life's  happiness. 

It  was  a  calm  but  very  mournful  party  who  met  in 
Plelen's  chamber  that  morning,  and  their  talk  was  low  and 
broken  by  frequent  pauses ;  for  Helen  was  too  hopeless, 
and  Charles  too  anxious,  for  many  words  ;  and  Colonel 
Bell,  as  he  held  his  daughter's  hand,  and  watched  the 
passive  despair  of  her  wan  face,  seemed  to  feel  all  the 
weight  of  past  and  present  sorrow  pressing  together  upon 
his  heart.  Yet  they  were  all  thankful  to  know  there  was 
no  xmkind  feeling,  no  cause  for  resentment,  to  add  to  the 
trials  of  this  dreary  time  ;  and  the  colonel  had  a  gloomy 
satisfaction  in  reflecting  upon  the   summary  revenge  he 


430  CASTE. 

had  taken  upon  the  beautiful  hut  malicious  woman  who 
triumphed  in  their  misery.  If  any  misgivings  had  previ- 
ously been  admitted  with  regard  to  the  justice  of  the  course 
he  pursued,  they  disappeared  forever  when  he  discovered 
Clara's  artifice  respecting  the  letter ;  for  he  could  have 
no  doubt  whose  hand  it  was  which  had  made  him  seem  to 
insult  one  to  whom  his  whole  heart  went  forth  in  sympa- 
thy and  love.  By  that  last  act  his  wife  had  sealed  her 
doom.  No  prayers,  no  tears,  no  entreaties  could  win 
from  hhn.  one  emotion  of  pity,  one  relenting  thought, 
after  he  learned  that  bold  and  cruel  piece  of  wickedness, 
by  which  she  had  so  nearly  cut  him  off  from  the  only 
comfort  he  might  hope  to  enjoy  in  his  declining  years. 

They  parted  at  length,  —  those  three  so  sorrowfully 
united,  —  for  it  seemed  best  on  every  account  that  Helen 
should  be  taken  to  other  scenes,  where  new  thoughts 
might  occupy  her  ;  and  if  it  had  not  been  so,  she  could 
not  have  consented  to  leave  her  brother.  Now  that  all 
was  explained  and  forgiven,  her  father  could  endure  to  let 
her  go,  Avith  the  hope  and  the  half  promise  that  she  would 
eventually  acquiesce  in  the  plans  he  had  formed  for  their 
future  life. 

Little  reference  had  been  made  to  Charles's  situation. 
In  the  uncertainty  which  hung  over  his  prospects,  it  was 
a  theme  too  delicate  for  discussion. 

The  sea  was  high,  from  the  gale  of  the  preceding  night, 
and  as  the  waves  glittered  and  leaped  in  the  sunshine, 
and  broke  in  crests  of  foam  upon  the  low  islands  of  the 


COLOEEB     PASSENGERS.  431 

harbor,  they  seemed  to  Helen  colder  and  more  cruel  than 
ever;  as  if  their  bounding  play  mocked  her  with  the 
memory  of  the  hour  when  she  recoiled  before  the  phan- 
tom of  grief,  and,  crowned  with  a  wreath  of  happiness 
and  love,  had  dared  to  think  she  could  measure  the  might 
of  sorrow. 

They  arrived  safely  in  Wilmington,  and  Charles  was- 
glad  to  find  that  the  change  and  excitement  of  a  rough 
night  at  sea  had  forced  his  sister  out  of  the  dull  iteration 
of  one  routine  of  thought,  and  that  bodily  discomfort  had 
in  some  measure,  for  a  little  while  at  least,  abated  the 
mental  malady.  She  took  more  interest  in  what  passed 
around  her,  and  during  the  rest  of  the  journey  she  was 
quiet  and  uncomplaining,  never  referring  to  her  own  case, 
and  striving  to  rally  and  divert  her  brother  from  the  ex- 
treme depression  which  gradually  stole  over  him,  as  they 
came  nearer  home.  Sometimes  it  seemed  as  if  it  would 
have  been  better  if  both  had  continued  self-absorbed  and 
unobservant,  for  several  incidents  occurred  which  touched 
them  rudely.  Conversations  took  place  around  them,  and 
remarks  were  made  to  the  servants,  who,  accompanying 
their  mistresses,  often  sat  near  them,  which  reminded 
them  of  the  light  in  which  their  fellow-countrymen  held 
the  race  from  whom  they  were  descended.  This  might 
have  been  expected  ;  but  after  they  came  into  the  free 
states,  they  were  compelled  to  notice  the  manifestation  of 
a  kindred  sentiment.  The  servants  were  no  longer  slaves, 
but  free  people  of  color  were  not  treated  with  the  respect 


432  CASTE. 

to  which,  in  the  Southern  States,  a  slave  is   entitled  by 
virtue  of  his  master's  right. 

When  they  entered  the  cars,  at  one  point  of  their  route, 
they  noticed  a  middle-aged,  neatly-dressed  mulatto  wo- 
man, with  a  bright  little  boy  beside  her,  occupying  the 
seat  near  the  door,  which,  extending  around  two  sides  of 
a  square,  afforded  room  for  four  persons.  Gradually  the 
car  filled  with  passengers,  and  the  train  became  crowded 
beyond  its  capacity.  Every  one  had,  from  the  first, 
avoided  the  front  seat,  Avhich  was  nearest  these  persons ; 
but  at  length,  after  a  disdainful  glance,  and  a  hesita- 
tion that  brought  a  deep  flush  over  that  dark  face,  two, 
who  esteemed  themselves  ladies,  condescended  to  occu- 
py it. 

No  other  seat  was  then  vacant,  except  those  beside  the 
little  boy,  who,  unconscious  of  his  mother's  embarrass- 
ment, was  chatting  as  he  looked  out  of  the  window, 
with  occasionally  a  merry  laugh.  Still  one  person  after 
another  entered  the  car,  walked  to  the  end  in  search  of  a 
resting-place,  and  then,  with  angry  and  scornful  glances 
into  the  woman's  face,  and  muttered  words  of  discontent, 
remained  standing,  rather  than  take  a  seat  beside  her. 
Helen  watched  the  mortified  and  distressed  expression  of 
her  features,  till  she  could  endure  it  no  longer.  She 
touched  her  brother's  arm,  and  whispered,  — 
"  Have  you  noticed  that  woman  by  the  door?  " 
He  nodded  assent. 


WHICH     IS     THE     LADY?  433 

"It  is  thus  they  would  treat  us,  if  they  knew  who  we 
were,"  she  added,  fiercely. 

"  Let  us  go  and  take  those  seats,"  said  Charles,  start- 
ing suddenly.  "  Would  you  dislike  to  ?  It  would  relieve 
the  poor  woman's  distress  ;  or,  if  you  choose,  I  \\ill  go 
without  you." 

"  No,  I  will  go,  also,"  said  Helen;  and  as  the  seat  was 
not  far,  the  remove  was  easily  effected,  and  the  position 
they  vacated  instantly  occupied. 

Helen  took  a  scornful  pleasure  in  watching  the  faces  of 
those  who  observed  this  simple  deed.  Surprise,  slight 
self-reproach,  indifference,  contempt,  ridicule,  appeared 
by  turns  as  her  eyes  moved  from  one  to  another ;  but 
when  she  looked  at  the  woman  whose  claim  to  the  com- 
mon equality  of  a  public  conveyance  she  had  thus  recog- 
nized, she  received  a  glance  of  tearful  gratitude  that  made 
her  own  eyes  moist.  Still  their  troubles  were  not  over, 
for  two  or  three  remained  standing,  whose  murmuring  it 
was  not  pleasant  to  hear ;  and  Avhen  the  cars  stopped 
again,  a  young  and  very  pretty  girl,  dressed  in  the  height 
of  fashion,  entered  trippingly,  and  stood  with  a  slight 
frown  at  seeing  the  crowd  before  her. 

Charles  Dupre  arose,  and  invited  her  to  take  his  seat. 
Helen's  face  was  hidden  by  a  thick  veil,  and  perhaps  the 
lady  did  not  know  that  she  was  not  as  dark  as  the  mulat- 
to beside  her,  for  she  elevated  her  dainty  little  nose  with  a 
toss  of  the  head  which  shook  all  her  ciirls  and  ribbons. 
37 


CASTE. 


"  You  may  keep  it  yourself,  sir,"  she  said,  in  no  gen- 
tle tone  ;   "  I  don"t  choose  to  sit  with  niggers." 

Charles  gravely  resumed  his  seat  without  a  word.  The 
woman,  who  keenly  felt  her  situation,  had  taken  her  boy 
in  her  arms ;  and  now  she  bent  down  her  face,  and  her 
tears  fell  on  his  curly  hair.  Presently  she  looked  up,  and 
said  timidly,  — 

"  I  would  stand  and  let  the  young  lady  sit  down,  but  I 
am  lame  and  cannot." 

"  Don't  trouble  yourself,  madam,"  replied  Charles, 
respectfully  ;  "  you  have  a  much  better  right  to  the  seat 
than  the  young  lady  has." 

She  overheard  him,  and  coloring  slightly,  murmured 
something  in  which  the  word  abolitionist  could  be  dis- 
tinguished, and  moved  away  to  the  other  end  of  the  car, 
where  a  gentleman  resigned  his  seat  to  her,  which  she 
took  without  a  word  of  thanks. 

Another  person  who  stood  near  Charles  Dupre  heard 
his  remark,  and  replied  impatiently,  — 

"  You  may  be  correct  about  her  having  a  right  to  the 
seat  if  she  has  paid  for  it,  but  I  don't  understand  what 
right  the  conductor  has  *to  give  her  a  ticket  for  this  car. 
I  think  there  must  be  some  mistake,  and  I've  been  wait- 
ing for  him  to  come  along  and  put  her  in  her  proper 
place.  I  believe  they  don't  allow  niggers  in  the  first 
class  cars,  on  this  road  —  hope  they  don't,  at  any  rate.'' 

This  amiable  conjecture  was  verified  when  the  con- 
ductor came  a  short  time  after,  and  the  woman  was  angri- 


A     FATAL     M  I  S  S  I  V  E 


Ife 


Ij'  and  rudely  ordered  to  take  Her  cliild  and  go  into  the 
inferior  car,  althougli  she  sho\ved  him  tickets  which  enti- 
tled her  to  the  place  she  occupied. 

"  There,  now,  we've  got  rid  of  the  nuisance,  and  can 
take  some  comfort,"  said  a  large,  coarse  man,  who  took 
his  seat  beside  Helen,  and  occupied  himself  in  showering 
tobacco  juice  out  of  the  window  during  the  rest  of  the 
morning. 

Helen  drew  a  mental  comparison  between  him  and  the 
neat,  pleasant-looking  woman  and  child  whose  place  he 
had  usurped,  and  groaned  in  bitterness  and  anger  at  the 
injustice  she  had  witnessed. 

Helen  was  very  weary  when  they  reached  New  York  city ; 
and  as  her  brother's  courage  had  utterly  failed  him  to  tell 
the  painful  news  he  brought,  they  determined  to  remain 
there  a  day,  which  would  give  Charles  an  opportunity  to 
write  a  letter  that  would  reach  i\Ir.  Conant  a  few  hours 
before  his  own  arrival  home. 

With  deep  dejection  and  forebodings  of  evil  growing 
every  hour  more  fixed  and  tangible,  this  purpose  was 
accomplished.  The  story  of  his  birth  was  simply  told, 
with  a  noble  candor  which  should  have  won  for  it  a  kind 
reception,  and  at  the  close  of  the  letter  a  few  pathetic 
sentences  revealed  what  the  effort  had  cost  him.  When 
he  had  finished,  Helen  proposed  that  he  should  go  to 
find  their  old  friend,  Mr.  Evans,  who  resided  with  his 
son,  a  little  out  of  the  city,  in  one  of  the  great  avenues 
by  w^hich  New  Yoi'k  is  attaching  her  overloaded  island  to 


436  CASTE. 

tlie  spacious  main  land ;  and  glad  of  something  that  might 
make  him  forget  himself,  Charles  consented,  promising 
to   bring  her  teacher  to  see  her. 

"  Perhaps  his  kind,  familiar  face  will  bring  back  the 
thoughts  of  those  old  days  when  we  saw  nothing  in  the 
world  but  pleasure  and  success  ;  and  any  thing  would  be 
delightful  which  could  for  a  moment  raise  us  out  of  the 
dead  horror  of  the  present,"  said  Charles,  sighing,  as  he 
rose  to  go. 

"  If  it  did  not  make  the  present  more  gloomy  by  con- 
trast," replied  Helen,  echoing  the  sigh. 

After  a  long  drive  in  the  crowded  omnibus,  and  then  a 
walk  along  a  street  where  seemed  to  reign  unmolested 
all  the  quiet  which  had  for  years  been  banished  from  the 
bustling  localities  he  had  left,  Charles  found  the  house  he 
sought,  and  experienced  the  disappointment  of  hearing 
that  all  the  family  with  whom  he  was  acquainted  were 
absent  from  home.  After  a  short  rest  he  retraced  his 
steps,  and  having  at  length  reached  the  region  of  such 
conveyances,  established  himself  again  in  an  omnibus,  and 
took  his  seat  in  the  farther  corner,  fatigued  and  dis- 
heartened. 

Several  persons  entered  after  him  as  the  carriage  wend- 
ed its  slow  way,  and  the  seats  were  nearly  filled,  when 
some  part  of  the  harness  broke,  and  the  driver  descended 
to  repair  it.  During  the  momentary  delay  a  colored 
gentleman,  who  had  for  some  time  been  waiting  on  tlr^ 
sidewalk,  came  and  opened  the  door,  and  pausing  on  the 


A     COLORED     CLEBGYMA?^':  437 

step,  said  to  the  lady  -who  sat  nearest,  "  Shall  I  come  in  ? 
Is  there  room?  "' 

The  lady  moved  along  with  rather  an  ungracious  air ; 
hut  the  gentleman  entered,  and  seating  himself,  gave  o'AC^ 
rapid  glance  at  the  row  of  faces  opposite  hiir^^  ^.-^^  ^hen 
folding  his  hands  on  the  top  of  a  s+^^^^^  ivory-headed 
cane,  ei-idently  made  for  use,  ^^^  leaned  forward  a  little 
with  his  chin  resting  up--^^  ^,^^^^^  ^^^  ^^-^  ^yes  fixed  on 
the  floor. 

apparently  a  gentleman  in  the  he&t  «iense  of 
word.     His  dress  and  mamiei-s  indicated  refinement 
and  a  respectable  station  in  society,  and  his  clear,  bright 
eyes  and  intelligent  face  betokened  cultivation  of  mir4 
and  goodness  of  heart.     The  cavriage  rolled  on,  and,^  ho 
sat,   still   looking   downwards.       Did    he  purposely"  '^^^ 
that  position?      Had   experience    taught  him  thav   thus 
only  he  could  escape  looks  which  would  be  like  dagger 
thrusts  ? 

Alas  for  the  Utopian  dream  of  liberty  and  equalitv  I 
Alas  for  this  proud  land,  which  vauntingly  invites  the 
criticism  of  a  world !  The  plague  spot  is  within  its 
heart ;  the  leprous  defilement  is  upon  its  face.  The  toils 
and  struggles  of  our  fathers,  the  providence  of  God,  seem 
to  have  raised  it  uji  only  to  be  a  mighty  propagandist  of 
slavery,  and  a  dead  ^^•eight  upon  the  nations  in  their 
onward  march  to  obtain  freedom,  and  fraternity,  and  jus- 
tice for  all ! 

37* 


438  CASTE 


Thus  thought  Charles  Dupre,  as  he  watched  the  rising 
discontent  visible  in  the  faces  of  most  of  the  passengers, 
as  minute  after  minute  passed,  and  he  who  was  so  cause- 
lessly obnoxious   retaiiied  his   seat   among  them.     There 
were  whisperings   from  one  to  another,  and  remarks  in- 
tended to  i.^et  his  ear,  but  inaudible  amid  the  clatter  and 
confusion  of  the  b-^et ;  and  at  length  three  or  four  pulled 
angrily  at  the  check  str&,^  ^^^^  flaunted  out  with  a  manner 
which   spoke  volumes  of  pha.-.^^^^i   pride.     The  gentle- 
man appeared  carefully  to  avoid  Sb.-^^  them,  and  when 
they  had  gone  resumed    his   first  positioi.       r^j^g^    gg^. 
eral  persons  beckoned  the  driver  to  stop  ;  but  w.,^  ^Yxej 
had  opened  the  door  and  looked  in,  they  closed  it  abru,.. 
ly,  and  motioned  him  to  pass  on.      Charles  could  imagine 
the  reason  for  this,  and  at  length  the  driver  suspected 
that  something  was  amiss,  and  twisting  his  eyes  to  get  a 
view  of  the  inside,  he  called  out,  — 

"  What's  the  matter  in  there  ?    You  ain't  full,  are  ye  ?" 
"  Not  full,  but  there's  one  too  many,"  replied  a  bluff- 
looking  fellow,  with  surly  good  nature. 

"  What's  the  matter?  "  said  the  driver  again. 
There  was  a  momentary  pause,  for  the  omnibus  was 
"  stuck  "  in  a  jam  of  carriages,  and  the  half  dozen  passen- 
gers who  were  left  looked  at  eaA  other,  uncertain  who 
should  spcuk  first ;  but  the  hesitation  was  terminated  by 
a  vinegar-faced  woman,  with  a  squeaking  voice,  sounding 
as  if  it  had  sharpened  itself  to  a  point  with  constant  scold- 
ing, who  exclaimed,  "  There  is  a  b\ack  nigger  man  in  here, 


NOT     IN     THIS     'bits.  439 

and  I  don't  suppose  nobody  want's  to  get  in.  I  wouldn't 
myself,  if  I  hadn't  got  my  baby  with  me  ;  and  I  can't  lug 
him  through  the  streets." 

"  A  nigger  !  "Who  is  it  ?  How  came  he  there  ?  "  said  the 
driver,  in  an  irritated  tone,  bringing  his  mouth  to  the 
hole.     "  Look  here,  you,  get  out  o'  that !  " 

The  gentleman  had  raised  himself  from  his  fixed  pos- 
ture as  he  heard  this  conversation,  and  now  moving  a 
little  nearer  the  centre  of  the  coach,  he  said,  in  a  digni- 
fied yet  beseeching  voice,  — 

"  I   beg  you   to   allow  me   to  remain  ;  I  am  not  well, . 
and  it  is  nearly  impossible  for  me  to  walk " 

"  When  did  you  get  in  without  me  seeing  you  ?  "  inter- 
rupted the  driver. 

"  When  you  stopped  to  fix  your  harness.     I  had  been 

refused  several  omnibuses,  and  I  took  the  liberty  to  get 

in  here   without  asking,  hoping  no  objection  would  be 

made.     I  had  walked  from  the  lower  part  of  the  city  to 

-isit  one  of  my  parish,  who  is  sick.     I  am  a  minister  ;  I 

"  ^   able   to   hire   a   carriage,  and  being  very  much 

°  ^  not  well,  I  hoped  to  find  some  omnibus  that 

would  take  me  i. ,, 

"  This  ain't  the   o^  at,       r      t    i     »x  ^  i 

no  way,  then,  for   I   don  t  take 

nigarers  into  this  bus.     So  i<.,  i       i.      x      ^r     . 

°°  -  over  and  get  out.     You  ve 

stole  your  own  ride,  and  regular  c.    .    ,  ^    ,  •,    ^f 

•'  ^  Hed  me  out  o    half  a 

dozen  others:  prettv  minister  you  are,       ...       ,  . 

'■        '  'aid  the  driver, 

grufily. 

The  gentleman  looked  harassed  and  extremely  tro , 


440  CASTE. 

At  first  he  made  a  motion  as  if  about  to  go,  and  then 
turning  to  the  passengers,  lie  said, — 

''I  appeal  to  you  if  this  is  not  A^ery  unjust.  What 
reason  is  there  why  I  should  not  have  a  right  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  the  delay  as  I  did,  and  use  a  public  vehicle  as 
any  other  man  would,  paying  my  fare  when  I  leave  it  ?  I 
am  a  citizen  of  New  York  and  a  minister  of  the  gospel, 
weary  with  pastoral  duties,  and  unable  to  hire  any  other 
means  of  conveyance.  I  appeal  to  you  if  I  shal^  ^^^ 
remain  here." 

■No  one  replied  except  Charles,  who  ga'^g  an  instant  and 
cordial  consent,  expressing  his  f^urr"  ..jg^  ti^j^t.  it  should  be 
needed  ;  and  the  man  who  hi>''^  ^j-gt  spoken  said,  in  his 
rough  but  hearty  tones,  -  _ 

"He's  a  very  do'' gj^^  ni"-ger.  I  don't  think  much 
black  Avill  rulj  -^^^  of  him,  marm,  [to  the  vinegar-faced 
woman,]  if  \q  ^^^g^  g|..^y  ^  while  longer.  Go  ahead,  driver  ; 
we're  p^;^  ^.^g.^;- 

^     "  I  don't  move  till  that  feller  gets  out,"  said  [^  , 

^e  driver, 

*\vith  an  oath  ;   "  and  if  he  don't  stir  his  str  T-n  ij   j 

-.  ^mps  1 11  find  a 

way  to  get  him  out." 

The  gentleman  made  no  furt^  i.   ^      •  i 

°  ,xi.er  remonstrance,  but  paid 

his  fare  and  left  the  omn^'         .  .^    i    -i 

..ous  m  dignified  silence. 

"  Do    vou   know  .    ^  ,,       i     i    r>iu     i       ^e  ^ 

,    who   that  IS  ?       asked   Charles  of  a 

ac  y  w  10  la^  ^  ^^^  through  all  this,  silent  and  expression- 
less. 

<'  I'ni  not  certain,  but  I  believe  it  is  the  Rev.  Mr.  P.," 
was  the  reply. 


THE     CASE     BROUGHT     HOME.  441 

"  Why  did  he  not  tell  his  name  ?  Surely  it  would  have 
commanded  respect,"  he  exclaimed,  astonished  and  indig- 
nant. 

"  It  would  have  made  no  difference,"  said  the  lady, 
carelessly.  "•  f  have  several  times  seen  him  refused  a  seat 
in  the  omnibus." 

"O,  shame!"  Charles  could  not  help  sajing.  "  It  is 
enough  to  make  one  blush  for  his  country." 

The  lady  smiled  coldly,  and  made  some  reply,  of  which 
he  heard  only  a  few  indistinct  words,  about  "  distinctions 
of  society ; "  for  the  "  jam,"  which  had  detained  them,  sud- 
denly gave  way,  and  the  carriage  rattled  on.  But,  as  he 
caught  that  phrase,  he  remembered  —  O,  A\ith  what  revolt 
and  sickening  of  heart !  —  that  he  also  must  feel  the  with- 
ering blight  which  these  unchristian  and  inhuman  ideas 
of  caste  threw  over  the  most  remote  descendants  of  the 
children  of  Africa. 

Long  before  daylight  the  next  morning,  the  train 
started  that  bore  Helen  and  Charles  to  the  inland  town, 
whither  in  all  former  journejings  his  thoughts  had  turned 
with  a  sense  of  joy  and  security,  as  to  a  haven  of  perfect 
rest,  a  paradise  which  would  ever  remain  blooming,  though 
all  the  world  beside  should  become  a  wilderness. 

But  now  an  angel  stood  at  the  gate  of  this  paradise, 
armed  with  a  flaming  sword,  beneath  which  he  knew  not 
if  he  might  pass  in  safety  ;  and  like  the  first  exiles  he 
strove  to  turn  his  despairing  eyes  from  its  cold  and  fatal 


442 


glare.  In  vain  !  his  thoughts  v/ould  fly  there  still,  even 
from  the  inward  prayer  whereby  he  sought  to  keep  thsm 
stayed  on  Heaven  ;  picturing  the  home  he  had  left  so  happy, 
now  shrouded  in  gloom,  for  his  sake  ;  and  Julie's  sweet 
eyes  no  longer  smiling,  but  filled  with  tears  of  mortifica- 
tion and  distress.  Those  four  miserable  hours !  Years 
afterwards  he  recalled  them  sometimes  in  dreams,  and 
woke  quivering  in  suffocating  agony,  as  if  a  strong  hand 
had  grasped  his  throat. 

Yet,  even  in  that  dreadful  time,  his  faith  and  his  sub- 
mission Avei*e  not  in  vain ;  and  in  the  midnight  darkness, 
over  the  storm-tossed  waves  of  feeling  in  which  he  was 
sinking,  helpless  and  hopeless,  came  the  radiant  form  of 
that  Divinity  whose  feet  once  walked  over  the  angry 
waves  of  Galilee,  which  grew  hushed  and  calm  beneath 
his  tread. 

The  sun  rose  brightly  in  the  clear  and  chill  November 
sky,  showing  the  trees  stripped  of  their  summer  glory, 
and  the  fields  brown  and  bare.  Three  weeks  had  made  a 
great  difference  in  all  the  familiar  landscape  about  his 
home,  and  he  felt  the  contrast  between  the  autumn's 
resplendent  wealth  and  the  dumb  poverty  wherein  Nature, 
stripped  of  all  her  treasures,  awaited  the  fall  of  snow  that 
was  to  cover  her  death.  Ah,  why  could  he  not  have 
seen,  in  the  brightness  of  his  own  expectations  three 
weeks  ago,  a  foreshadowing  of  similar  destitution  and 
loss  ! 


WHAT     WILL     J  U  L  I  K     SAY?  443 

Tlie  train  rushed  on,  througli  hill  and  over  valley, 
through  town  and  hanilet,  whizzing,  clattering,  scream- 
ing, as  if  it  rejoiced  to  know  how  relentlessly  it  bore  him 
onward  to  the  dreaded  hour.  Then  its  speed  slackened, 
the  bell  rang,  the  steam  shrieked  franticly,  the  tram- 
ping of  horses  and  hum  of  voices  became  audible,  and  a 
crowd  of  faces  looked  in  at  the  darkened  windows.  They 
had  reached  their  destination  :  and  A\ath  limbs  that  trem- 
bled, and  veins  cold  as  ice,  he  gave  his  arm  to  Helen,  and 
stepped  out  upon  the  platform  of  the  station. 

Immediately  a  friendly  hand  grasped  his,  and  cordial 
tones  of  welcome  sounded  in  his  ears.  He  could  hardly 
see  the  faces  around  him  for  the  mist  that  came  before 
his  eyes ;  but  he  recognized  the  voice  of  Edgar  Avenel, 
and  heard  his  sister  sobbing  in  Mrs.  Avenel' s  arms. 
This  kindness  was  so  unexpected,  and  accorded  mth  such 
delicacy  and  simplicity,  that  it  instantly  raised  them  from 
their  despondency,  and  \vithout  hesitation  Helen  accepted 
her  friend's  invitation  to  go  home  with  her.  Having  seen 
her  thus  provided  for,  Charles  turned  to  go  in  an  oppo- 
site direction.  He  preferred  walking,  that  his  arrival 
might  be  as  quiet  as  possible  ;  for  he  felt  utterly  uncertain 
concerning  the  reception  which  awaited  him,  and,  divided 
between  fear  and  inlpatience,  the  way  seemed  longer  than 
ever  before. 

,     But  the  house  was  reached  at  length.     He  glanced  up 
at  the  window  of  his  chamber,  but  the  face  that  always 


444 


watclied  there  for  him  was  not  \isible.  He  could  not 
know  that  Julie,  on  her  knees,  was  begging  strength  from 
Heaven  for  them  both,  and  his  heart  stood  still,  as  pale 
and  faint  he  leaned  against  the  door. 

Had  they  all  deserted  him  ?  He  must  know  the  worst 
at  once ;  and  with  a  desperate  rousing  of  all  his  strength, 
he  passed  into  the  hall. 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-THIRD 


"  Ah  me !  for  aught  that  ever  I  could  read, 
Could  ever  hear  by  tale  or  history, 
The  course  of  true  love  never  did  run  smooth." 


PEKHArs  Charles  did  not,  in  his  letter,  use  sufficient 
circumlocution  to  prepare  his  father-in-law  for  what  he 
had  to  tell ;  and  perhaps,  in  any  event,  his  indignation 
and  amazement  would  have  revealed  the  secret.  Certain 
it  is,  that  having  taken  his  letters  from  the  office  at  the 
coming  in  of  the  evening  mail,  he  stepped  into  the  store 
of  "  Davis  and  Dapre,"  to  read  them  before  going  home  ; 
and,  in  the  sudden  shock  of  learning  such  news,  prudence 
was  forgotten,  and  all  around  became  aware  of  his  mis- 
fortune. 

"  Impossible  !  "  "  It  can't  be  true  !  "  "  Horrible  !  " 
"  Infamous  !  "  were  the  exclamations  which  followed  ; 
and  the  half  dozen  gentlemen,  who  chanced  to  be  jDres- 
ent,  clustered  around  him  to  hear  the  whole  of  the  astound- 
ing letter. 

"  Shameful !  my  poor  children  !  We  shall  never  re- 
cover from  this  disgrace,"  said  Mr.  Conant,  as  he  closed 
the  letter  and  put  it  in  his  pocket,  with  the  most  extreme 
agitation. 

38  (445) 


446 


"  You  will  sue  for  a  divorce  immediately,  of  course," 
remarked  one  of  his  friends. 

"  O,  certainly  !  bilt  poor  Julie  —  to  have  married  a 
quadroon  !      O,  horrible  !  "  and  he  groaned  aloud. 

"It  is  too  bad!  It  will  break  up  our  partnership  — 
poor  Dupre,  it  is  hard  for  him,"  said  Mr.  Davis,  M^ho  had 
till  now  been  too  much  astonished  to  speak. 

"  Yes,  you  couldn't  think  of  being  connected  with  him 
now.  But  won't  it  be  inconvenient  to  dissolve  ?  "  asked 
another. 

"Very  —  but  it  must  be  done,  of  course  —  it  wouldn't 
do  at  all  to  be  in  business  with  a  colored  persoii,''  he 
replied,  with  a  blush  of  shame  at  the  very  thought. 

"  Why  not,"  asked  Edgar  Avenel,  who  stood  near. 
"  In  what  has  Charles  Dupre  changed  since  three  weeks 
ago,  when  you  were  proud  of  his  acquaintance,  save  in 
the  noble  courage  to  tell  the  truth  at  all  hazards." 

There  was  a  momentary  pause  ;  and  the  gentlemen 
looked  at  each  other,  until  one  said,  with  a  bow,  half 
deferential  and  half  scornful,  "  We  all  know  your  peculiar 
ideas,  Mr.  Avenel ;  but  public  opinion  —  the  usages  of 
society — every  thing,  forbids  such  a  notion.  Poor  Du- 
pre !  it  is  a  wonder  no  one  ever  suspected  it." 

"  I  have  often  thought  the  lower  part  of  his  face  was 
slightly  negrofied,"  said  another;  "but  his  complexion 
and  hair  are  more  like  the  Si')anish  blood,  and  then  he  is 
so  intelligent  and  agreeable  !  Who  would  have  thought 
it?" 


A  CASE  OF  "FALSE  PRETENCES."   447 

"  I  ought  to  have  been  more  careful  in  examining  into 
his  early  life,"  said  Mr.  Conant;  "but  then  there  was  no 
evidence  ;  they  tried  once,  and  couldn't  get  any  clew  to 
their  birth.  And  to  think  it  should  have  turned  up  now, 
when  it  is  too  late  !  O  heavens  !  what  have  I  done,  that 
such  a  horrible  disgrace  should  come  ujjon  my  family  ? 
We  shall  never  get  over  it." 

"  Don't  feel  too  badly,  my  friend,"  said  one  of  the 
company,  soothingly ;  "it  will  be  a  nine  days'  talk,  but 
after  the  divorce  it  will  soon  be  forgotten.  Every  body 
knows  you  were  not  to  blame,  and  '  misfortunes  will  occur 
in  the  best-regulated  families.'  " 

"  Xo  one  will  think  any  the  less  of  you,"  said  another,\ 
"  but  it  is  hard  for  your  daughter." 

"  I  declare  it's  a  shame  —  a  clear  case  of  obtaining 
goods  under  false  pretences,"  said  another,  carried  away 
by  his  sympathy  for  his  neighbor. 

"Dear  Julie  —  it  makes  me  crazy  to  think  of  her," 
groaned  Mr.  Conant.  "  How  shall  I  go  home  and  tell 
them  ?  And  yet  I  must,  for  he  says  he  shall  be  here  to- 
morrow. The  scamp  !  "  he  added ;  for  his  trouble  was 
fast  making  him  angry  ^^-it]l  its  cause  —  "  the  scamp  !  I 
don't  believe  but  he  must  have  known  something  of  this 
before  !     It  is  clear  imposition." 

The  exclamation  was  followed  by  various  surmises  and 
conjectures  of  the  same  nature  among  the  group,  until 
Mr.  Conant  was  half  con^dnced  that  they  were  true.  Mr. 
Avenel  had  vainly  tried  to  soften  their  feelings,  and  de- 


448  CASTE. 

fend  the  absent.  They  regarded  his  views  as  Utopian  ; 
and  he  perceiving  that  they  were  too  much  excited  to  see 
their  own  injustice,  tiu-ned  away,  merely  saying,  as  he  left 
them,  "  I  beg,  Mr.  Conant,  that  in  this  painful  afiFair  you 
will  remember  you  have  always  heretofore  considered 
Charles  Dupre  the  very  soul  of  honor,  and  that  he  loves 
your  daughter  more  than  his  life.  And  you,  gentlerhen, 
consider  that  he  is  no  less  a  man,  because  of  the  accident 
of  his  birth,  and  that  your  conduct  towards  him  has 
power  to  wring  his  very  soul." 

He  bowed  to  them,  and  passed  out ;  and  this  appeal, 
which  was  not  made  dictatorially,  but  wdth  a  sad  earnest- 
ness, lor  a  few  moments  changed  the  cun^ent  of  their 
tlfoughts.  But  Mr.  Conant  was  one  of  that  class  of  per- 
sons whom  perplexity  and  grief  make  angry,  and  it  was 
with  no  very  tender  feelings  towards  his  unfortunate  son- 
in-law  that  he  sought  his  own  home. 

When  he  entered  the  parlor,  his  ii-ritated,  fidgety  man- 
ner at  once  assured  his  wife  that  something  unusual  had 
occurred ;  and  Julie,  raising  her  eyes  to  ask  for  a  letter, 
received  such  a  snappish  reply,  that  she  shrank  back  in 
wonder,  and  resumed  her  work. 

That  delicate  little  piece  of  work !  Nelly  had  been 
told  it  was  a  short  gown  for  the  cat,  and  had  innocently 
wondered  that  sister  Julie  should  take  such  pains  to  em- 
broider it,  when  pussy  would  be  sure  to  tear  it  off  imme- 
diately, as  she  always  did  the  doll's  clothes,  in  which  she 
was  sometimes  dressed  ;  and  Ned,  the  teasing,  inquisitive 


II  0  W     TO     T  K  L  I,     E  A  T>     S  E  W  S  .  449 

Xed,  had  been  shown  how  all  the  coniers  would  fit  to- 
gether, and  be  a  complete  night  cap,  with  the  addition  of 
some  part  ^-et  to  be  cut  out.  But  Julie  alone  knew  how 
many  flowers  of  fancy  had  been  woven  into  that  fine 
embroidery,  or  how  many  hopes  and  wishes  might  be 
counted  for  every  stitch  of  that  dainty  sewing. 

"  AVhat-is  the  matter  with  you,  ]Mr.  Conantr '"  said  hLs 
wife,  at  length,  Avhcn  he  had  remained  some  time  looking 
moodily  into  the  fire,  without  speaking. 

"  I  have  heard  some  bad  news,"  said  he,  in  a  low  tone. 

His  wife  glanced  anxiously  towards  Julie,  and  made  a 
sign  for  him  to  be  silent ;  but  her  quick  car  had  caught 
the  meaning  of  his  words,  and  she  exclaimed,  — 

"  Bad  news  !     O  father,  is  it  about  Charles  ?     It  is,  I 

know   by   your   looks.     Is    he   sick :    is   he "     She 

coidd  not  speak  the  fatal  word,  which  died  on  her  lips, 
but  she  sank  back  in  her  chau-,  so  faint  and  tremulous, 
that  her  mother  said,  in  alarm,  "  How  could  you  be  so 
thoughtless,  Mr.  Conant  ?  Do  tell,  now,  for  suspense  is 
worse  than  any  thing." 

"  He  is  not  sick,  or  dead,"  said  Mr.  Conant,  ^nth  a 
sigh ;  and  he  moved  uneasily  in  his  chair,  with  his  eyes 
fixed  on  his  daughter. 

*'  But  something  has  happened  —  some  accident ;  it  is 
about  him,  I  know,  or  you  woiUd  not  look  at  me  so ;  " 
and  as  she  spoke,  she  clasped  her  hands,  beseechingly. 

"  Xo,  there  has  been  no  accident ;  I  have  had  a  letter 
38* 


450 


from  him,  and  he  will  ha  here  to-morrow.  Dear  child,  I 
don't  know  but  it  would  be  better  for  you  if  he  were  not 
coming,"  said  her  father.  The  poor  man  Avas  almost  dis- 
tracted with  apprehension,  and  his  strange  manner  fright- 
ened her  even  more  than  his  Avords. 

"  Do  speak,  and  tell  what  the  matter  is,"  said  Mrs. 
Conant,  anxiously.  "  You  will  put  the  child  into  fits,  if 
you  keep  on  so._  It  can't  be  any  thing  very  dreadful,  if 
he  is  well,  and  will  be  here  to-morrov>'.  How  oddly  you 
act !     "Was  the  bad  news  in  his  letter?  " 

He  looked  at  her  gloomily  a  moment,  for  her  tone  of 
vexation  annoyed  him,  and  then  he  answered,  — 

"  Yes,  you  may  as  \\qII  know  it  first  as  last.  He  has 
found  out  all  about  himself  since  he  has  been  down  there, 
who  his  parents  are,  and  all." 

"Who  are  they?  "  exclaimed  both  his  listeners,  in  one 
breath. 

"  That  is  the  misery  of  it.  I  don't  knoAv  how  you  will 
bear  it,  but  you  must  try  and  be  as  calm  as  you  can." 

"  I  don't  care  who  they  were,"  cried  Julie  ;  "  it  won't 
make  any  diilbrence  to  me." 

"  Poor  child,  you  don't  know  —  you  will  never  imagine 
the  shame  and  the  disgrace  of  it.  I  don't  know  how  to 
tell  you.  His  father  was  a  gentleman,  but  his  mother  — 
their  mother,  for  Helen  is  really  his  sister  —  was  a  slave." 

"Mercy,"  screamed  Mrs.  Conant,  grasping  his  arm; 
"  you  don't  mean  a  real  slave,  a  nigger  !  " 


T  H  E     T  RUE     "WIFE.  451 

"  Yes,  a  mulatto  woman  ;  aia't  it  dreadful  ?  "  And  he 
buried  his  face  in  his  hands,  with  a  deep  groan. 

"  Poor  Charles !  poor  Helen  !  how  badly  they  must 
feel !  "  said  Julie,  simply  ;  "  that  is  the  reason  I  haven't 
had  a  letter  since  he  left  Charleston.  Dear  Charles  !  I'm 
glad  he's  so  near  home." 

"•  You  little  ignoramus,"  said  her  father,  starting  with 
indignation  to  see  her  receive  these  tidings  so  differently 
from  what  he  had  expected  ;  "  you  needn't  go  out  of  your 
\\ay  to  pity  them.  There's  your  father,  and  mother,  and 
your  whole  family,  disgraced  forever  ;  and  you,  poor  mis- 
erable girl  I  how  will  you  ever  dare  look  any  body  in  the 
face  again?     I  expected  it  would  almost  kill  you." 

"  I  am  sorry,  very  sorry,"  said  Julie,  with  gentle  ear- 
nestness ;  "  for  1  S3C  you  and  mother  are  so  annoyed,  and  I 
know  it  ^vill  be  a  sort  of  mortification  to  the  children,  when 
they  first  hear  of  it ;  people  may  laugh  at  them  about  it."' 

"  I  hope  you  didn't  tell  any  one  of  it,"  interrupted  her 
mother  ;  "  we  might  keep  it  hushed  up,  and  nobody  will 
know  it." 

"  Unfortunately,  I  was  so  astonished  I  let  the  secret 
out  before  I  thought ;  so  it  is  too  late  for  that,"  said  Mr. 
Conant ;  and  his  wife  turned  away  with  an  exclamation 
of  distress. 

"  Why  should  it  make  any  difference  ?  ''  urged  Julie  ; 
"  people  won't  think  any  less  of  him,  though  they  mny 
be  sorry  for  him." 

"You  little  goosG,"  said  her  father.     "You  poor  child. 


452 


are  you  really  so  simple  as  not  to  see  the  difference  it 
will  make  ?  When  did  you  ever  see  a  mulatto  received 
into  good  society,  and  treated  as  an  equal? '' 

"  But  Charles  is  not  like  them,''  said  Julie,  blushing, 
with  tearful  eyes,  at  this  allusion  to  her  husband.  "  Every 
body  knows  Charles,  and  likes  him ;  and  he  is  so  hand- 
some, and  so  good,  and  so  intelligent.  O,  it  can't  make 
any  difference." 

"  My  poor  child,  you'll  find  it  will  make  all  the  differ- 
ence in  the  world,"  said  her  mother,  sadly.  "  It  makes 
it  no  better  that  he  has  always  been  thought  white,  for 
people  will  be  ashamed  to  think  they  have  been  imposed 
upon.  No,  it  is  an  awful  misfortune.  I  don't  know  what 
we  shall  do." 

"  It  is  a  misfortune  because  you  feel  so  about  it,"  said 
Julie,  coloring  still  more  deeply,  while  her  blue  eyes 
flashed,  and  her  whole  face  assumed  a  look  that  was  al- 
most defiant.  "  But  I  don't  care  abotit  it —  I  don't  i  my 
husband  is  his  own  noble  self,  and  never  imposed  upon 
any  body.  Just  as  soon  as  he  found  this  out,  he  told 
of  it,  though  he  might  have  concealed  it,  and  I  honor  him 
the  more  for  it ;  and  I  don't  care  what  the  world  says  or 
thinks ;  he's  as  good  as  any  body,  and  I  love  him  better 
than  ever,  and  I'm  glad  he's  coming  home  to-morrow,  that 
I  can  tell  him  so." 

"  No  you  won't,  child,"  said  her  father,  inteirnptin^ 
her ;  "  do  you  suppose  he  is  going  to  continue  a  member 
of  my  family  ?     No,  he  has  disgraced  us  enough  already. 


"  \V  Jl  A  T     GOD     HATH     J  O  I  If  J:  I)  .  "  153 

You,  poor  child,  will  never  be  able  to  hold  up  your  head 
again,  after  having  had  a  quadroon  husband,  and  a  child 
^vith  his  blood  in  its  veins  ;  "  and  he  groaned  again  as  he 
thought  of  it.  "  But  I  won't  have  the  disgrace  and  the 
curse  continued,  to  be  a  lasting  reproach  to  your  lit  tic 
sister,  and  blast  your  brother's  prospects " 

"  Hush,  husband  :  you  have  no  consideration,"  said 
]Mrs.  Conant,  placing  her  hand  over  his  mouth,  with  a 
vvaruing  gesture;  for  Julie  had  become  so  pale  that  she 
feared  a  fainting  fit.  "  Don't  mind  him,  Julie,  dear  ;  and 
you  had  better  go  uji  stairs  and  lie  down  ;  you're  getting 
too  much  excited,"  she  added,  as  she  poured  out  a  glass 
of  water  and  held  it  to  her  daughter's  lips.  Rut  she  put 
the  glass  away,  and  though  tears  were  running  over  her 
cheeks,  and  she  trembled  in  every  limb,  her  Aoice  Avas 
firm,  as  she  said  vehemently,  — 

"  You  are  cruel !  you  are  unjust  I  but  you  can  never 
make  mc  ashamed  of  him  —  never  —  never.  He  is  my 
own  dear,  noble  husband,  and  God  has  joined  us  together, 
and  I  will  cling  to  him  till  death  parts  us." 

"  Hush,  darling,  hush  :  you  Mill  make  yourself  sick. 
Go  up  stairs  and  keep  quiet ;  "  and  as  she  spoke  Mrs. 
Conant  drew  her  to  the  door,  and  went  up  with  her  to  her 
own  room. 

"  I  had  rather  bo  alone,  now,"  she  said,  in  a  choked 
voice,  and  her  mother  kissed  her  tenderly  and  went  away. 

Alone  !  Ah,  in  that  chamber  ^hcrc  she  had  passed  so 
many,  many  happy  hours  with  Charles,  she  could  not  be 


454 


wholly  alone,  for  the  tokens  of  his  presence  were  always 
near.  There  were  his  books,  —  one  on  the  table,  open 
at  the  place  where  they  were  reading  together  the  day 
before  he  left,  —  and  on  the  cushion  of  the  oriel  window 
wliere  they  sat  so  long  together,  that  last  happy  evening, 
was  his  dressing  gown,  just  where  he  had  thrown  it  when 
he  took  it  off ;  for  she  had  not  allow^ed  it  to  be  removed. 
Her  eye  rested  on  it  now,  and  she  flew  across  the  room, 
and  fell  down  beside  it,  gathering  it  to  her  bosom  with 
gushing  tears. 

"  O,  darling,  precious  husband,"  she  cried,  "  they  shall 
never  make  me  leave  you  ;  you  are  my  own  —  mine 
always!  O  God,  pity  us! — help  us!"  and  her  sobs 
and  tears  came  thicker  and  faster,  till,  exhausted  with 
emotion,  she  found  relief  in  sleep. 

Mrs.  Conant  returned  to  the  parlor,  where  her  husband 
was  pacing  the  room  in  an  agitated  manner,  and  throwing 
herself  into  an  easy  chair,  she  wept  silently  for  a  long 
time. 

"This  is  a  most  distressing  business,"  said  her  hus- 
band, pausing  at  last,  and  seating  himself  beside  her. 

"  It  is,  indeed,"   she  answered  ;    "  what  shall  we  do  ?  " 

'•  Do  !  There  is  but  one  thing  to  do  ;  wc  must  get  them 
divorced  as  soon  as  possible,  and  then  we  can  move  away 
from  here.  In  a  new  place  the  other  children  will  not  be 
taunted  with  poor  Julie's  misfortune." 

"  But  then,  to  think  of  her  situation  —  to  think  of  what 
is  coming  !  " 


A     X  E  X  I)  E  R     FATHER.  455 

"  Death  may  relieve  us  of  that  addition  to  our  troubles," 
said  Mr.  Conaiit,  moodily. 

"  Why,  husband,"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Conant,  "  your  own 
child  !  can  you  wish  her  dead  ?  " 

"  No,  not  my  child,  but  hers.  O  heavens  !  how  will 
she  ever  bear  such  shame  and  sorrow.  She  is  but  a  frail 
little  creature  at  best,  and  she  will  have  every  thing  to 
endure  at  once." 

"  It  does  seem  too  bad.  Why  couldn't  you  have  kept 
it  to  yourself  for  a  while  ?  and  then  we  might  have  ar- 
ranged things  quietly  by  and  by." 

"  It  is  no  use  to  blame  me  for  that  now.  I  regret  it 
as  much  as  you  do,  but  I  was  so  confounded  that  I  told 
the  Avhole  before  I  knew  what  I  was  doing.  Here  is  the 
letter." 

She  read  it,  and  then  laying  it  down  with  a  sigh, 
said,  "  Poor  Charles  !  he  has  acted  nobly  about  it,  and  it 
is  enough  to  break  one's  heart  to  think  of  him  and  his 
sister.     What  an  unendurable  thing  it  is  for  us  all !  " 

"  I  suppose  I  am  unfeeling,"  replied  her  husband,  "  but 
it  makes  me  angry  to  think  of  him.  It  seems  as  if  he 
might  have  known ;  he  certainly  couldn't  have  forgotten 
every  thing  about  his  childhood  —  nobody  does." 

"  He  was  very  young  when  he  came  north,  and  after 
that  there  was  nothing  to  keep  alive  early  memories," 
said  Mrs.  Conant,  gently.  "  What  are  you  going  to  do 
to-morrow,  when  he  comes?  "  she  added,  after  a  pause. 

"  Send  him  away  as  fast  and  as  far  as  possible,"  replied 


456  CASTE. 

he,  with  stem  detemiination.  "  I  suppose  I  may  have 
some  trouble,  but  ho  shall  not  have  any  thing  more  to  do 
with  Julie." 

"  It  will  kill  her,"  said  his  wife,  anxiously. 

"Well,  let  it.  Yes,"  he  added,  as  she  made  an  ex- 
clamation of  horror,  "  I  believe  I  had  rather  follow  her  to 
her  grave  than  have  it  known  openly  that  she  was  living 
with  him.  Think  of  it,  wife  !  It  is  amalgamation  I 
Think  what  a  disgrace  it  Avould  be  to  the  other  children. 
It  would  entirely  spoil  their  prospects  in  life.  For  their 
sakes  we  ought  to  prevent  it,  let  it  cost  what  it  may." 

"  But  Charles  is  so  handsome,  and  has  so  little  negro 
blood  in  him,"  pleaded  his  wife. 

"  He  has  enough  to  damn  him,"  answered  Mr.  Conant. 
"  jSTo,  wife,  I  tell  you  it  won't  do.  The  gentlemen  who 
were  talking  about  it  this  afternoon  all  agreed  that  this 
was  the  only  thing  I  could  do.  It  seems  severe  now,  but 
it  will  be  best  in  the  end,  and  we  must  consider  the  other 
children.     Where  are  Ned  and  Nelly  ?  " 

"  He  took  Nell  over  to  Melton  to  see  my  sister,  and 
said  they  shouldn't  be  at  home  till  to-morrow  night.  I 
am  glad  they  are  gone  just  now." 

"  So  am  I.  I  wish  to-morrow  was  over.  When  you  take 
up  Julie's  tea  you  must  talk  Avith  her,  and  try  to  get  her 
to  take  a  sensible  view  of  the  matter.  Tell  her  how  wrong- 
such  marriages  are,  and  what  a  curse  and  trouble  they 
always  bring.  Of  course  she  will  feel  dreadfully  at 
first ;  but  I  think  after  a  time   she  may  become  calmer 


COXSUXTATIOX.  457 

about  it ;  and  slie  knows  nobody  loves  bcr  more  than  you 
and  I  do,  and  we  will  devote  ourselves  to  making  her 
happy."' 

More  conversation  of  this  kind  followed.  Mrs.  Conant 
felt  less_bitterly  towards  Charles  than  her  husband  did, 
and  had  some  misgivings  about  the  necessity  of  the  stern 
measures  which  he  considered  the  only  alternative ;  for 
her  heart  yearned  towards  her  daughter,  and  sjinpathized 
in  some  degree  with  her  unhappy  love ;  but  still  her  pride 
was  deeply  wounded  by  the  thought  of  what  the  world 
would  say  at  this  discovery,  and  she  blushed  to  think 
that  her  child  should,  even  innocentlj',  have  made  such  a 
mesalliance.  When  Julie's  tea  was  carried  to  her,  Mrs. 
Conant  followed,  and  tried  to  fulfil  her  husband's  wishes, 
in  con^'incing  her  that  his  vicAvs  were  correct.  The  young 
wife  heard  all  in  silence.  She  Avas  calm  enough  now, 
but  very  pallid  and  sad,  and  there  was  something  in  her 
face  which  made  her  mother  feel  that  all  her  words  were 
wasted. 

She  allowed  herself  to  be  undressed,  and  went  unresist- 
ingly to  bed,  but  when  urged  to  permit  some  one  to  sleep 
■with  her,  she  begged  so  earnestly  to  be  left  alone,  that 
Mrs.  Conant  at  length  consented,  and  went  away  with  a 
heavy  heart. 

Minute  after  minute,  hour  after  hour,  that  slow  night 
lagged  along  its  com-se,  and  still  that  white  form  lay 
motionless,  those  small  hands  crossed,  and  those  blue 
39 


458  CASTE. 

unsleeping  eyes  wide  open ;  and  ever  and  anon  the  angels 
■vvho  watched  around  her  heard  her  say,  in  her  sweet, 
childish  voice,  "  I  must  be  very  calm  and  patient,  for  to- 
morrow Charles  mil  be  here,  and  I  shall  need  all  my 
strength  to  help  him." 

The  morrow  came.  Charles  Dupre  stood  face  to  face 
with  the  father  and  mother  of  his  wife,  and  for  a  moment 
the  stem  mortification  and  anger  of  the  former  were  sub- 
dued by  the  sight  of  his  sad  face  —  pale,  agitated,  and  yet 
lighted  by  a  certain  loftiness  of  purpose,  that  involuntarily 
claimed  respect.  They  were  all  so  much  excited  that  for 
a  time  neither  spoke.  Then  Charles  asked,  in  a  tremu- 
lous voice,  "  Where  is  my  wife  r  " 

"  Julie  is  up  stau-s,"  replied  Mr.  Conant,  in  a  tone  which 
he  in  vain  tried  to  render  firm  ;  and  her  mother,  out  of  the 
pity  of  her  heart,  could  not  help  adding,  — 

"  The  cars  are  in  early  this  morning.  She  did  not 
expect  you  so  soon." 

Charles  made  a  quick  step  forward,  and  grasped  her 
passive  hand,  —  trembling  so  much  in  the  reaction  of 
feeling  that  he  could  hardly  stand.  He  thought  he  had 
mistaken  the  coldness  of  his  first  reception.  Julie  did 
not  mean  to  desert  him  —  they  did  not  intend  to  dis- 
own him  ! 

Mr.  Conant  read  the  meaning  of  the  light  which  broke 
over  his  face,  and  as  he  was  turning  away  to  seek  his 
wife,  rose  suddenly,  and  stood  between  him  and  the  door, 

"We  pity  you,  Charles,"  he  said:    "  we  have  appreci- 


THE     DECISION.  459 

atcd  the  nobleness  of  your  conduct  in  this  painful  matter  ; 
but  I  am  sure  you  must  feel  that  you  cannot  possibly 
expect  to  stand  on  the  same  footing  you  have  hitherto  in 
my  family." 

Charles  leaned  heavily  against  the  mantel-piece,  near 
■which  he  stood,  and  the  faintncss  returned  as  these  cold, 
ominous  words  met  his  ear.  But  he  rallied  after  a  mo- 
ment, and  said,  calmly,  — 

"  I  suppose  I  ought  not  to  expect  it.  I  know  ^the 
prejudices  of  society  against  the  unhappy  race  with  which 
I  am  connected  through  my  unfortunate  mother ;  and  I 
hardly  dared  hope  that  even  the  habit  of  years,  and  your 
perfect  knowledge  of  me,  could  overcome  your  horror  of 
this  blot.  I  am  ready  to  go  far  hence,  where  I  can  never  be 
known  as  having  been  honored  with  your  friendship.  But 
Julie  :   I  must  know  how  she  feels  ;  I  must  see  her  first." 

"  Julie  is  a  mere  child ;  she  don't  know  what  is  best 
for  her ;  and  in  her  present  situation  I  cannot  have  her 
excited,  as  she  will  be,  if  she  sees  you." 

"  Not  see  her!  not  sec  my  wife,"  exclaimed  Charles,  in 
a  sharp,  agonized  tone.  "  This  passes  my  worst  fears. 
You  cannot  mean  to  be  so  cruel." 

We  have  said  that  Mr.  Conant  always  became  angry 
when  his  feelings  were  excited  by  grief,  and  now  he  was 
in  the  mood  to  be  exceedingly  irritated  by  this  reply. 

"No,  sir,"  he  said,  sternly,  "you  shall  not  see  her; 
and  what  is  more,  you  shall  leave  this  house  directly, 
never  to  enter  it  again  ;  "  and  ho  pointed  to  the  door. 


460 


"  Does  she  know  of  this  ?  does  she  wish  it  ?  "  asked 
the  miserable  man,  in  a  low  voice.  But  before  any  one 
could  reply  there  was  a  quick  step  in  the  hall,  and  through 
the  half-open  door  Julie  flitted  into  the  room,  silent  and 
white  as  any  snow  wreath,  in  her  loose  muslin  dress,  and 
without  a  word  cast  herself  into  her  husband's  open  arms. 
For  a  few  moments  none  of  that  group  spoke  or  moved. 
Mrs.  Conant  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  with  a  low  cry. 
Charles's  face  was  bowed  down  and  hidden  in  the  golden 
ringlets  that  lay  on  his  breast,  and  his  arms  clasped  close, 
close,  as  if  they  could  never  again  relinquish  that  quiver- 
ing, sinking  form. 

"  Charles,  dear  Charles,  I  love  you  better  than  ever ;  I 
will  never  leave  you,"  she  whispered  at  length. 

"  God  bless  you,  Julie,"  he  murmured,  and  the  hot 
tears  fell  upon  her  upturned  face. 

Presently  her  father  stepped  forward,  and  laid  his  hand 
on  her  arm,  which  was  aroimd  her  husband's  neck.  His 
grasp  was  gentle,  but  firm,  and  though  his  voice  Avas 
husky  it  was  very  stern, 

"  Julie,  this  must  cease.     Go  to  your  room,  my  child." 

She  turned  her  face  to  him,  and  he  was  startled  to  see 
how  the  childish  look  was  gone.  It  was  a  woman's  face, 
dignified  and  detennined,  and  slightly  worn  with  this 
sudden  pressure  of  care. 

"  Father,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  decided  as  his  own,  "  you 
must  not  say  that  again  ;  you  must  not  tell  me  to  leave 
him.     I  am  his  wife." 


THE     HUSBAND     DISSEXTS.  461 

"  I  deny  it ;  lie  married  3-011  under  false  pretences  ; 
1  will  procure  a  divorce  this  very  month  ;  and  if  there  is 
the  honor  of  manhood  in  him,  he  will  be  satisfied  with  the 
misery  he  has  caused,  and  the  disgrace  he  has  brought 
upon  us  all,  and  take  himself  away  where  his  base  blood 
won't  be  a  continual  reproach  to  us." 

"  Send  him  away  if  you  Avill,"  said  Julie,  recoiling  a 
little  before  her  father's  angry  eyes  ;  "  but  wherever  he 
goes,  I  go  with  him." 

"  Hear  me  a  moment,  I  pray,"  exclaimed  her  husband, 
as  Mr.  Conant  was  about  to  reply ;  "  I  came  here  fully 
resolved  to  submit  to  Avhatcver  fate  might  be  ordained  for 
me.  For  myself  I  feel  not  one  atom  less  of  self-respect 
than  before  this  secret  of  my  birth  was  known  ;  but  I 
remembered  your  prejudices,  I  knew  the  injustice  of 
society,  and  I  expected  to  find  you  overwhelmed  with 
mortification.  I  thought  you  might  desire  me  to  remove 
somewhere  else,  that  my  connection  with  you  might  be 
sooner  forgotten.  But  I  did  not  expect  to  be  received  more 
in  anger  than  in  sorrow ;  I  did  not  expect  to  be  insulted 
for  my  misfortunes ;  I  did  not  expect  that  yon  could  at 
once  forget  I  had  been  to  you  as  a  son,  and  had  honored 
you  as  a  father.  If  Julie  had  shared  your  feelings,  if  she 
had  even  for  a  moment  been  ashamed  of  me  —  I  would 
have  left  you  in  silence.  But  now  that  I  know  her  heart 
is  unchanged,  I  must  try  to  defend  myself  from  these  ex- 
treme measures.  I  appeal  to  your  own  generosity  and 
39* 


462 


kindness,  wlietlier  they  are  not  too  liard.  In  what  am  I 
changed  ?  Have  I  not  the  same  form  and  face,  the  same 
heart  and  mind,  the  same  affections  and  passions,  as  if  I 
were  indeed  the  white  man  you  thought  mo  ?  "What 
right  has  this  Moloch  of  public  opinion  to  demand  that 
all  I  hold  dear  shall  be  sacrificed  to  its  burning  hate  r  If 
the  blood  of  my  ancestors  is  of  moment,  why  should  not 
that  I  received  from  my  father's  side  count  for  some- 
thing ?  O,  mockery  of  justice  !  that  robbed  my  mother 
of  a  woman's  right,  a  woman's  honor,  and  curses  her 
child  for  the  stain  !  " 

He  paused,  overcome  by  emotion,  of  which  his  flash- 
ing eyes  and  crimson  cheek  gave  token ;  and  Mr.  Conant 
replied,  more  calmly  than  before,  but  not  less  peremp- 
torily, — 

"  I  see  that  you  are  unfortunate,  but  I  cannot  see  the 
injustice.  The  laws  of  social  life  are  right  upon  the 
whole,  though  they  press  hardly  in  some  cases.  You  are 
a  sensible  man,  and  you  have  seemed  to  regard  the  wel- 
fare of  my  family.  Now,  you  must  know  that  Ave  cannot, 
without  eternal  disgrace,  acknowledge  you." 

"  I  do  not  ask  you  to,"  replied  Charles  ;  "  only  do  not 
drive  me  away  with  anger  and  contempt.  If  Julie  Avill 
go  with  me,  let  us  go  in  peace  ;  and  we  Avill  honor  you 
with  love  and  gratitude  all  the  days  of  our  lives,  but  we 
will  never  trouble  you  again." 

"  And  Avhat  should  I  say  to  those  who  asked  me  where 
my  eldest  daughter  was  ?     Do  you  suppose  I  will  allow 


UX  REASON  ABLY     TEKSISTS.  463 

the  other  children  to  be  disgraced  by  countenancing  such  a 
marriage  ?  Do  you  suppose  yoiu-  children  shall  ever  call 
me  grandfather  ?  Never.  I  don't  see  -where  your  affec- 
tion for  Julie  is,  that  you  even  think  of  taking  her  from 
such  a  home  as  she  has  here,  to  share  such  a  life  as  yours 
mil  be.     You  must  be  very  selfish." 

"  If  I  had  known  this  before  I  was  married — before  I 
was  engaged  to  Julie  —  I  would  sooner  have  died  than 
propose  such  a  thing,"  said  Charles,  with  strong  emotion. 
"  But  now,  God  knows,  I  would  not  drag  the  star  of  my 
idolatry  down  to  my  own  dark  sphere,  did  I  not  feel  as- 
sured that  I  can  be  more  than  all  the  world  beside  could 
be  to  her.  I  am  not  penniless,  and  we  will  go  where 
nobody  shall  taunt  her  with  her  husband's  birth,  and  live 
secluded  and  happy.  0  Mrs.  Conant,"  he  added,  "  plead 
for  us  ;  I  know  you  must  pity  us.  If  your  husband  will 
only  consent  to  this,  all  may  yet  be  well." 

Mrs.  Conant,  who  still  sat  with  her  face  bowed  on  her 
hands,  looked  up  as  she  heard  this  passionate  appeal,  and 
tried  to  speak  ;  but  her  intense  excitement  caused  such  a 
paroxysm  of  weeping  that  she  was  unable  to  utter  a  word. 
Her  husband  also  was  affected,  and  for  a  moment  his  reso- 
lution wavered.  But  then  there  came  the  phantom  sound 
of  "the  world's  dread  laugh,"  the  recollection  of  what 
had  been  said  the  night  previous,  and  his  own  deep-rooted 
prejudice  against  the  colored  race  ;  and  determined  to  end 
the  scene,  he  said,  in  a  quick,  harsh  tone,  — 

'*  You  have  said  enough.     You  may  go.  ' 


464  CASTE. 

"And  Julie?" 

"  My  curse  shall  cling  to  her  forever  if  she  goes  with 
you,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Conant,  seizing  his  daughter's  hand. 

Trembling  and  horrified  she  left  her  husband's  arms, 
and  sank  helplessly  at  his  feet,  still  holding  his  hand  with 
both  of  hers,  and  crying,  "  O,  no,  father  —  you  don't  mean 
that  —  your  poor  little  Julie!  You  don't  mean  those 
dreadful  words  !" 

"  Will  you  leave  him  ?  " 

"I  cannot  —  I  must  not  —  but,  O  father" — her  voice 
died  in  a  convulsive  sob  ;  and  now  her  mother  came  for- 
ward, exclaiming,  — 

"  This  will  never  do  —  it  will  kill  her.  Charles,  you 
must  go  for  the  present,  certainly  :  Julie,  dear,  you  will 
let  him,  won't  you  ?  " 

Charles  had  raised,  and  was  half  supporting  his  wife, 
still  clinging  to  her  father's  hand,  her  agitation  becoming 
every  moment  more  intense.  He  saw  that  it  was  danger- 
ous, and  said,  doubtingly,  — 

"  Shall  I  go,  dear  ?     Had  I  better  go  ?  " 

"  No,  no.  Not  without  me.  They  shall  never,  never 
part  us." 

"  Come  with  me,  then,"  he  said,  and  bore  her  half 
fainting  to  the  hall. 

But  as  he  stopped  to  wrap  a  shawl  about  her,  Mrs. 
Conant  followed,  and  her  father  interfered. 

"  Charles,"  he  said,  "  your  wife  is  a  mere  child,  and 
don't   know  what  is  best,  and    I   have    had   no    time  to 


A     STRATAGEM.  465 

explain  to  her  my  wishes  or  my  views.  You  will  be  doing 
a  great  wrong  if  you  take  her  away  now,  in  the  first  pas- 
sion of  this  discovery,  when  she  has  had  no  chance  to 
count  the  cost  of  the  sacrifice  she  makes ;  and  I  cannot 
consent  to  it.  If  she  goes  now,  she  goes  with  a  father's 
anger  clinging  to  her.  But  if  you  wdll  leave  her  till  I 
have  talked  with  her,  and  am  convinced  that  she  will 
really  be  happier  with  you  than  we  can  make  her  here, 
why,  then  you  may  come  and  take  her  ;  and  though  I  will 
never  see  you  again,  I  will  not  curse  her  for  the  disgrace 
she  brings  me." 

Charles  looked  at  the  poor  child  he  held  in  his  arms, 
already  too  much  exhausted  by  the  scene  she  had  endured, 
and  after  a  little  pause  he  yielded  his  wishes  to  his  fears 
and  his  sense  of  right. 

"  Will  you  stay,  darling  ?  *'  he  whispered. 

"  Must  I  ?  "  she  said. 

"  I  am  afi-aid  you  ought,"  he  answered,  reluctantly  ;  and 
after  a  slight  struggle  with  herself,  she  consented, 

"  But  you  will  come  back  to-night,"  she  added. 

"•  To-morrow  is  soon  enough,"  said  Mr.  Conant. 

"  O,  no,  to-night  —  I  can't  bear  another  such  night  as 
the  last  was,"  she  pleaded,  growing  very  pale. 

"  "Well,  w^ell !  Any  thing,  if  you  will  go  now,"  said 
Mr.  Conant,  impatiently. 

As  Charles  bent  over  his  wife,  with  a  lingering  embrace, 
she  whispered  softly  in  his  car,  "  Don't  be  afraid  — 
when  you  come,  I  will  go  away  with  you  ; "  and   then,  as 


466  CASTE. 

he  raised  liitnself,  she  said  aloud,  Avith  one  hand  lifted 
to  heaven,  and  a  strange  awe  on  her  fair  young  face, 
"  May  God  do  so  to  me,  and  more  also,  if  aught  but 
death  part  thee  and  me." 

How  often  they  had  chanted  those  words  together  in 
other  days !  How  little  they  had  thought  ever  to  hear 
them  spoken  thus  ! 

Charles  gave  his  hand  to  Mrs.  Conant,  who  clasped  it 
warmly  :  he  then  turned  to  her  husband ;  but  he  stepped 
back,  exclaiming,  sternly,  "Never,  sir!"  and  when 
Charles  had  gone,  he  closed  the  door,  and  locked  it. 

May  God  forgive  him  ;  ho  only  meant  to  separate  them» 

As  Mrs.  Conant  was  going  up  stairs  with  Julie,  he 
called  her  back,  and  said,  "  Be  sure  the  child  don't  come 
out  of  her  room  to-day.  He  shall  never  see  her  again  in 
this  world  ;  so  help  me  Heaven  !  " 

In  his  excitement,  he  spoke  louder  than  he  intended. 
Julie  heard  him,  and  without  word  or  sound  fell  senseless 
on  the  floor. 


When  Charles  Dupre  left  the  house  of  his  father-in- 
law,  he  went  first  to  inquire  for  his  sister,  and  having 
spent  a  few  sad  moments  with  her,  went  to  the  hotel, 
whither  his  baggage  had  been  sent.  It  was  an  hour  when 
many  of  his  business  acquaintance  were  on  the  street, 
and  he  perceived  by  the  constraint  of  some,  and  the  pity- 
ing looks  of  others,  how  rapidly  his  secret  had  become 
known.     Only  two  or  three  greeted  him  with  a  manner 


SUMMEK     FRIENDS.  467 

wliicli  showed  tliat  though  they  knew  all,  they  valued  him 
not  the  less. 

Soon  after  his  arrival  at  the  hotel,  Mr.  Davis,  his  part- 
ner, called  over  to  see  him.  He  Avas  embarrassed,  and 
hardly  knew  what  to  say,  and  was  infinitely  relieved  when 
Charles  told  him  that  although  then  he  was  not  at  liberty 
to  attend  to  business  matters,  on  the  morrow  he  would 
see  him,  and  that  he  wished  the  partnership  between 
them  dissolved,  as  he  intended  to  leave  the  country  im- 
mediately. 

Davis  assured  him  their  affairs  could  soon  be  settled, 
and  added,  "  I  think  it  is  the  best  thing  you  can  do  to 
leave  town,  my  dear  fellow  ;  it  might  be  awkward  for  you 
to  stay  here,  you  know." 

"  It  might  be  awkward  for  some  of  my  summer  friends, 
w^ho  stand  in  awe  of  'Mrs.  Grundy,'  "  Charles  could  not 
help  saying.  Mr.  Davis  blushed,  and  stammered  an  apol- 
ogy, and  went  away  with  the  enviable  feeling  which  a 
man  has  after  saying  just  what  he  didn't  intend  to  say. 

Charles  remained  in  his  room  all  day.  He  had  no  more 
fear  of  being  separated  from  his  wife,  and  her  beautiful 
devotion  shed  a  warm  glow  of  happiness  over  his  heart ; 
but  he  trembled  for  the  effect  of  so  much  excitement  and 
suffering,  and  he  cast  an  anxious  glance  into  the  furure, 
now  that  all  her  plans  were  so  distressingly  overthrown. 

The  hours  sped  slowly,  and  as  the  setting  sun  gave  warn- 
ing that  the  day  would  soon  be  finished,  he  threw  aside 
some  papers  and  business  calculations,  which  for  a  little 


468  CASTE. 

while  liad  absorbed  him,  and  commenced  slowly  pacing 
the  room,  thinking  of  Julie,  and  longing  for  the  moment 
when  he  might  fly  to  her.  But  as  the  lingering  bright- 
ness faded  out  of  the  west,  a  shadow  seemed  to  fall  sud- 
denly over  his  spirit,  a  "  horror  of  great  darkness,"  as  if 
the  light  of  his  life  was  quenched  forever. 

Startled  by  this  unaccountable  depression,  fanc5-ing 
himself  growing  nervous  and  excited,  he  sat  down  again, 
and  strove  vainly  to  fix  his  thoughts  on  the  lines  of  fig- 
ures before  him.  His  mind  seemed  to  have  no  power  to 
act,  and  in  the  gathering  twilight  the  figures  appeared  to 
change  into  a  strange  cabalistic  writing,  fraught  with  the 
spell  of  a  fearful  doom. 

As  he  sat  leaning  thoughtfully  ujion  his  hand,  a  slight 
sound,  or  consciousness  that  some  one  was  near,  made 
him  look  up.  He  gazed  intently  for  a  short  time,  and 
then  grew  very  pale,  and  pressed  his  hand  tightly  over  his 
eyes,  imagining  himself  the  victim  of  some  optical  illu- 
sion. But  when  he  looked  again,  Julie  yet  stood  there, 
mute  and  still  as  in  a  dream,  with  her  tender  eyes  fixed 
on  him,  her  silken  curls  floating  over  her  shoulders,  a 
loose  drapery  around  her,  and  in  her  folded  arms,  pressed 
caressingly  against  her  bosom,  she  bore  a  little  babe  ; 
while  from  her  whole  form  a  faint  light  shone  out  into 
the  gray  darkness  of  the  room. 

Charles  arose  slowly  from  his  chair,  made  one  step 
towards  her,  and  with  a  shivering  thrill  of  uncertainty 
and  fear,  he  uttered  her  name.     The  pale  lips  parted  with 


A   VISION.  469 

a  celestial  smile ;  raising  her  hand,  she  pointed  upwards, 
and  the  vision  disappeared. 

He  was  no  longer  uncertain  ;  all  was  plain  to  him  now. 
Seizing  his  hat,  he  rushed  into  the  street,  and  heedless  of 
the  attention  he  attracted,  ran  with  frantic  speed  till  he 
reached  Mr.  Conant's  house.  The  door  was  not  locked 
then,  for  one  had  entered  in  before  hinr,  at  whose  ap- 
proach bolts  and  bars  fall  asunder. 

He  went  directly  to  Julie's  chamber,  and  when  he  saw 
the  group  there,  he  gave  one  faint,  despairing  cry,  and 
sprang  to  the  bedside. 

She  was  lying  deathly  white  and  still,  as  he  had  seen 
her  in  the  vision ;  and  beside  her,  with  one  feeble  arm 
thrown  over  as  if  to  shield  it,  lay  a  tiny  babe.  His  wife  ! 
his  child  !  Were  both  gone  ?  both  dead  ?  Ah,  no.  That 
loving  spirit  could  not  pass  away  till  it  had  given  one  last 
precious  token  of  affection,  one  assurance,  to  span  with  a 
rainbow  bridge  of  hope  the  fathomless  gulf  of  death. 

For  many  minutes  only  a  fluttering  around  her  heart 
had  given  sign  of  life ;  but  when  she  heard  her  hus- 
band's voice,  the  closed  eyelids  quivered,  and  she  moved 
her  hand  towards  him.  The  nurse  and  the  physician 
stood  near,  and  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  her  father  knelt,  his 
face  buried  in  the  curtains.  Her  mother,  unable  to  be- 
hold her  sufferings,  had  long  since  been  cairied  fainting 
from  the  chamber. 

Charles  thi-ew  himself  down  beside  his  wife,  and  the 
40 


470 


pressure  of  liis  arm,  his  palpitating  caress,  his  fevered 
breath,  pouring  forth  in  words  the  passion  and  agony  of 
his  soul,  seemed  to  warm  even  the  chill  and  torpor  of 
death.  She  opened  her  eyes,  and  tried  to  smile.  The 
physician  poured  a  few  stimulating  drops  between  her 
lips,  and  she  soon  revived  enough  to  speak  in  a  low  whis- 
per —  so  low  that  he  held  his  breath  to  hear. 

"  I  wanted  you  so  much,  dearest ;  I  am  going  away  for 
a  little  while.     Did  you  hear  me  calling  you  ?  " 

"  O  Julie  !  O  precious  one  !  live  for  my  sake,"  he  cried  ; 
and  all  his  frame  wavered  and  shook  with  a  tremor  of  pain 
and  rapture,  to  hear  her  voice  once  more,  and  to  hear  it 
thus.  Her  lip  quivered  with  a  grieved  expression,  and 
two  large  tears  gathered  slowly  beneath  the  long  lashes, 
and  rolled  over  her  cheeks.  Then  she  raised  her  hands, 
as  if  begging  to  be  taken  up  ;  and  Charles,  seating  him- 
self on  the  bed,  lifted  her  so  that  she  lay  in  his  arms,  with 
her  head  on  his  breast. 

"When  she  felt  herself  there,  she  nestled  down,  clinging 
feebly  to  him,  and  smiled  again  as  she  looked  up  in  his 
face,  with  a  contented  and  happy  air  even  more  touching 
at  that  moment  than  tears.  It  was  so  like  her  natural 
manner,  it  brought  back  so  vividly  the  memory  of  the 
many,  many  times  when  his  heart  had  throbbed  with  ec- 
stasy beneath  its  light  burden,  that  it  took  from  him  all 
strength  or  fortitude,  to  think  how  forlorn  he  should  be 
when  that  bright  head  was  pillowed  in  the  grave. 

But  \\dth  a  mighty  effort  he  hushed  his  tumultuous 


peace!  471 

grief.  Gently  all  her  life  had  passed,  and  gently  should 
she  be  hushed  to  her  last  repose.  He  knew  it  was  the 
last,  for  the  face  which  smiled  on  him  wore  that  strange 
look  one  sees  hut  once  on  the  face  of  any  friend.  He  bent 
down  and  kissed  her  lips  softly  and  reverently,  and  she 
whispered  in  broken  accents,  nestling  close  to  his  heart  as 
she  spoke,  — 

"  We  are  going  to  heaven,  dear  —  baby  and  I ;  God 
has  called  us.  You  remember  what  I  told  you  that  night. 
It  is  true ;  I  shall  be  a  strong,  beautiful  augel,  to  shield 
you  from  every  thing  evil,  to  comfort  and  bless  you.  You 
will  see  us  again,  dear,  by  and  by ;  I  will  teach  baby  to 
love  you,  and  when  you  come  to  us,  there  will  never  be 
any  more  parting.  Say  you  are  willing,  dear.  I  cannot 
bear  to  die  if  you  are  not  willing.  Don't  cry,  darling. 
God  calls  me  ;  tell  me  I  may  go." 

"  O  Julie,  Julie,  I  am  ■s\illiag  ;  but  it  breaks  my  heart," 
he  moaned. 

The  clear  blue  eyes  grew  dim,  and  a  faint  shudder 
passed  over  her.  "  It  is  better  so,"  she  murmured. 
"  When  I  am  gone  they  wiU  pity  you.  Peace  I  leave 
with  you  —  God's  peace." 

Again  there  was  a  shudder,  and  a  long,  gasping  breath, 
as  higher  and  higher  rose  about  her  the  icy  waters  of  the 
river  which  Avinds  around  the  eternal  shores. 

"Julie,  little  Julie,  speak  to  me  once  more,"  he  cried. 

Above  the  surgings  of  that  river,  above  the  songs  of 
waiting  angels,  she  heard  his  pleading  voice,  and  her  spirit 


472  CASTE. 

leaned  back  to  answer.  Her  eyes  brightened,  and  her 
face  assumed  an  expression  so  joyous,  so  radiant,  it 
showed  that  she  had  passed  forever  from  out  the  shadow 
of  earthly  woe, 

"  Darling,  I  love  you,"  she  whispered ;  and  with  these 
words  she  died. 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-FOURTH. 


"  God  keeps  a  niche 
In  heaven  to  hold  our  idols!  and  albeit 
He  brake  them  to  our  faces,  and  denied 
That  our  close  kisses  should  impair  their  white, 
I  know  we  shall  behold  them,  raised,  complete, 
The  dust  shook  from  the  beauty,  glorified, 
New  Memnons,  singing  in  the  great  God-light." 


During  most  of  the  day  previous  to  her  death,  Julie 
had  been  insensible.  After  the  birth  of  her  babe,  one 
fainting  fit  followed  another,  and  it  was  not  until  they  al- 
ready considered  her  dying,  that  she  revived  and  became 
conscious  of  her  situation.  Her  first  inquiry  had  been  for 
her  husband,  and  she  entreated  he  might  come  to  her ;  but 
when  her  father  was  informed  of  it,  he  peremptorily  refused 
to  send  for  Charles. 

Still  the  physician  hesitated  and  urged  compliance,  say- 
ing she  ought  not  to  be  excited  or  troubled  in  any  way. 

"  If  you  tell  me  you  think  it  will  save  her  life,  I  sup- 
pose I  must  send  for  him ;  not  otherwise,"  replied  Mr.  Co- 
nant.     "  I  do  not  admit  that  ho  has  any  right  to  my  child." 

"  I  cannot  conscientiously  say  it  will  save  her  life,"  said 
the  doctor  ;  "  but  surely  you  will  not  deny  her  any  thing 
in  her  dying  state." 

Mr.  Conant  looked  down  thoughtfully  for  a  short  time, 
40  ^'  (-l'-'^) 


474  CASTE. 

and  then  answered  decidedly,  "  We  Avill  tell  her  that 
Charles  Dupre  will  soon  he  here.  It  is  the  truth,  for  he 
was  to  return  this  evening,  and  it  is  now  nearly  dark." 

"With  this  equivocation  they  satisfied  her.  She  pressed 
her  father's  hand  to  her  lips,  vdih  a  smile  of  gratitude  that 
pierced  his  heart  like  a  dagger,  leaving  a  wound  which 
could  never  heal.  But  he  knew  it  not  then.  He  only 
knew  he  could  not  hear  the  gaze  of  her  niild  eyes,  and 
kneeling  at  the  foot  of  the  hed  he  buried  his  face  from  sight. 

Then  she  asked  for  her  babe  —  the  helpless  being  that 
had  only  breathed  to  die  ;  and  when  it  was  brought  she 
clasped  it  to  her  bosom,  and  seemed  to  sink  to  sleep,  her 
pulses  growing  fainter,  and  a  cold  sweat  upon  her  brow. 

"  It  is  death,"  said  the  physician  ;  and  removing  the 
babe,  he  laid  it  on  the  bed  beside  her,  supposing  she  would 
not  notice  it ;  but  to  his  surprise  a  troubled  expression 
shaded  the  repose  of  her  features,  and  one  hand  followed 
his  movements,  and  was  laid  caressingly  over  the  little 
form.     At  that  moment  Charles  Dupre  entered  the  room. 


For  a  long  time  after  all  was  over,  and  the  beautiful  form 
he  held  had  groTvn  chill  and  rigid,  he  whom  she  had  loved 
so  well  kept  her  pressed  close  against  his  breast,  her  chosen 
resting-place,  and  gazed  into  her  face  until  its  peace  and 
quiet  joy  entered  into  his  soul,  there  to  abide  forever. 

Forgetting  himself,  his  thoughts  followed  her  to  the 
world  where  she  had  gone,  and  he  could  bless  the  mercy 


THE     HOUSE     OF     MOURNING.  475 

which  had  appointed  for  her  so  brief  a  trial,  so  glorious,  so 
safe  a  shelter  in  the  arms  of  almighty  love.  No  tears  fell 
on  her  face,  as  he  laid  her  down,  and  crossed  the  white 
hands  on  her  bosom.  Her  last  promise  was  being  fulfilled  ; 
and  even  then  he  realized  that  the  true  Julie,  the  bride  of 
his  heart,  Avas  still  his  spirit  bride,  and  though  he  must 
leave  the  form  behind  him,  she  would  be  ever  by  his  side. 
Yet,  O,  the  precious,  precious  dust,  through  which  the 
beauty  of  the  inner  life  has  been  manifested !  How  we 
cling  to  it,  how  we  love  to  look  upon  it,  how  we  loathe  to 
give  it  up  to  the  destroyer  !  Charles  returned,  again  and 
again,  for  one  more  look,  one  more  embrace,  until  he  saw, 
by  the  faces  of  those  around,  that  he  might  stay  no  longer. 
His  eye  fell  on  her  work  basket,  Avhich  stood  upon  the 
little  table  near  ;  and  taking  from  it  that  last  delicate  piece 
of  work,  and  a  tiny  pair  of  scissors,  he  cut  off  some  of  the 
long  bright  curls  which  had  been  his  pride,  and  wrapping 
them  up  together,  slowly  left  the  chamber. 

When  he  had  gone,  Mr.  Conant,  who  had  until  now  re- 
mained motionless,  lifted  up  his  head,  and  looked  long 
and  earnestly  at  his  daughter's  face.  Upon  his  oa\ti  was  a 
dreadful  expression  of  sorrow  and  remorse.  Staggering 
to  his  feet,  he  bent  over  her,  pressing  his  lips  to  her  hands 
and  brow. 

"  O  Julie,  my  child,"  he  murmured,  "  I  loved  you  —  it 
was  not  my  fault —  I  did  not  mean  to  kill  you." 

sympathies,  and  distuTu3~ 


476  CASTE. 

It  was  a  cold,  dark  night,  and  as  Charles  Dupre  walked 
to  his  hotel,  the  keen  ^vind  made  him  shiver,  and  with  a 
sort  of  dread  he  remembered  the  dark,  cheerless  room 
which  awaited  him,  so  different  from  the  home  he  had  lost 
—  the  lonely  room,  where  there  was  nothing  which  her 
presence  and  her  touch  had  made  sacred.  "What  was  his 
surprise,  on  arriving  there,  to  find  lights  and  a  fire,  and  to 
see  his  sister  sitting  by  the  table,  her  head  leaned  thought- 
fully on  her  hand ! 

"  My  dear  Helen ! "  he  exclaimed,  "  were  you  not  afraid 
to  come  out  this  stormy  evening,  after  your  fatigue  last 
night?" 

"  What  is  my  life  worth,  except  to  minister  to  you,"  she 
said.  "  I  heard  an  hour  ago  that  Julie  was  very  ill  —  dy- 
ing —  and  I  could  not  rest  till  I  had  come  to  you.  How 
is  she  ?  " 

He  had  taken  her  hand,  and  now  his  eyes  met  hers  with 
an  expression  she  could  not  understand  —  solemn  and  yet 
not  sad,  as  if  a  light  was  shining  over  his  face,  reflected  from 
some  celestial  sphere.     Presently  he  said,  impressively, — 

"  He  giveth  his  beloved  sleep." 

She  looked  at  him  anxiously.  "  Sleep  !  —  do  you  mean 
the  last  sleep  .^  O  Charles,  is  she  gone  ?  and  can  you  beeir 
it  thus  ? " 

Charles  seemef'  to  hear  her,  and  yet  his  eyes  were  raised 
and  fixed,  p^  ^e  gazed  earnestly  on  some  far-off  object, 
and  his  -  i  had  a  dreamy  tone,  like^ffl>,^vea  her "^^^7'  ^^ 
he  s"'  VVhy  shoulij^g^  ^^^  ^^  ^^^^^^  ^^^^^  ^^^  p  have 


A     S  0  K  R  O  W     NOT     W  I  T  TI  O  U  T     II  0  T  E  .  477 

laid  down  my  life  to  shield  hers  from  sorrow  ?  and  yet 
how  powerless  I  was  !  And  now  —  O  the  happiness  of 
the  life  on  which  she  has  entered !  From  the  doubt  and 
gloom,  from  these  wearisome  days,  and  these  nights  that 
bring  no  peace,  she  has  gone  to  perfect  joy,  to  the  vigor 
of  immortal  powers,  to  the  light  of  endless  day.  Blessed 
be  God  for  the  gift  of  his  dear  Son,  through  Avhom  we 
have  hope  beyond  the  grave  !  Blessed  be  Christ,  the  great 
sacrifice,  through  whose  death  we  live  !  " 

Helen  watched  the  expression  of  his  features  as  he  said 
this.  Her  lips  quivered,  her  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and 
with  a  quick,  nervous  motion,  like  one  imploring  relief, 
she  held  out  her  hands  towards  him. 

"  How  can  you  feel  so  ?  "  she  cried  in  a  distressed  voice. 
"  Tell  me,  Charles,  how  is  it }  I  cannot  comprehend  it. 
You  have  a  tender  heart,  and  you  loved  her ;  and  now  you 
have  lost  her  —  you  have  lost  every  thing  —  bankrupt  in 
hope  and  happiness,  even  as  I  am  —  and  yet  you  do  not 
murmur  or  rebel ;  you  suflfer,  but  not  as  I  do.  I  came 
here  to  give  you  comfort,  and  I  find  you  calm  and  almost 
joyful.  O,  tell  me  where  to  find  this  peace,  this  courage, 
for  my  soul  is  dark." 

"  Dear  Helen  !  "  said  her  brother,  seating  himself  beside 
her ;  and  now  for  the  first  time  his  voice  faltered,  and  he 
mingled  his  tears  with  hers.  His  strong,  pure  heart  was 
very  tender,  as  she  had  said,  and  her  trouble  moved  its 
deepest  sympathies,  and  disturbed  its  lofty  calm. 


478  CASTE. 

"  Dear  Helen,"  he  repeated,  "  seek  it  in  prayer.  It  is 
the  gift  of  God." 

"The  gift  of  God?"  she  replied,  hopelessly.  "Alas  ! 
even  he  has  forsaken  me.  I  cannot  submit  to  his  will. 
I  cannot  be  reconciled  to  this  sorrow.  And  my  suffering 
is  worse  than  yours  —  far  worse.  I  was  mistaken  in 
thinking  you  had  reached,  at  last,  my  level.  You  have 
that  lovely  image  ever  before  your  memory,  with  all  its 
hallowed  associations  around  it,  unsullied,  as  a  sanctuary 
whither  you  may  flee  from  the  coldness  and  hoUowness  of 
the  world  without.  But  I  —  what  have  I  ?  Nothing  but 
corroding  recollections,  that  eat  my  heart  like  poison.  It 
is  no  pleasure  to  look  back  —  there  is  no  hope  in  looking 
forward." 

"  My  sister,  there  is  hope,  there  is  happiness,  if  you  will 
accept  it.  Hear  the  promise  which  says,  '  As  one  whom 
his  mother  comforteth,  so  will  I  comfort  you.'  These 
thorns  that  wound  you  so  cruelly  have  deep  in  their  centre 
a  healing  balm,  and  if  you  can  be  patient  and  submissive 
to  bear  the  pain,  its  cure  will  come  speedily.  There  is  an 
almighty  Friend,  who  waits,  even  now,  to  give  you  such 
blessed  rest  and  peace  as  will  almost  make  you  forget 
your  woes." 

She  sighed  heavily,  and  answered,  "  No,  that  cannot  be. 
Neither  you  nor  I  will  ever  forget.  To  those  who  have 
truly  loved  forgetfulness  is  impossible.  All  else  fade  away, 
but  the  name  of  the  beloved  is  graven  on  the  soul  with 
letters  of  fire,  and  must  remain  there  to  purify  and  enlighten, 


RESIGN  A  Tio::?.  479 

or  to  burn  and  scath  it  forever.  But  I  am  saddening 
you,  instead  of  comforting.  Speak  to  me  now  of  Julie  ; 
or,  if  you  cannot  endure  that,  let  us  be  sUent,  and  I  will 
bear  my  miserable  thoughts  alone." 

"  O  Helen,  there  is  your  mistake.  Hard  as  is  the  fate 
vihich  has  overtaken  us,  we  are  not  called  to  struggle  and 
to  suffer  alone.  Like  a  burst  of  song  from  the  celestial 
choir  comes  that  evangel,  '  I  -will  not  leave  you  com- 
fortless ;  I  will  come  to  you.  Let  not  your  heart  be 
troubled,  neither  let  it  be  afraid.'  Take  these  words  to 
your  o\j'n  heart,  and  pray  for  faith  to  believe  them ;  and 
thus  you  may  have  part  in  that  legacy  which  Christ  left 
his  disciples."  He  paused,  and  added,  in  a  lower  tone, 
"  That  legacy  which  Julie  left  me  when  she  died  — 
'  peace,  not  as  the  Avorld  g-iveth.'  " 

"Can  it  be?  Is  resignation  possible?"  she  asked, 
doubtfully,  in  a  calmer  tone. 

"Why  should  it  not  be  possible?"  said  Charles. 
"  What  are  we,  that  we  should  claim  exemption  from  toil 
and  sorrow  in  this  life,  when  we  have  all  eternity  for  un- 
interrupted felicity  ?  Is  not  God  stronger  than  all  these 
things  which  seem  to  be  against  us  ?  and  can  he  not  con- 
trol them  ?  Is  not  God  wiser  than  we  ?  Or  if  he  chooses, 
for  his  own  glory,  even  to  make  us  monuments  of  suffer- 
ing, shall  we  defeat  his  purposes  by  rebellion  ?  Only 
think  how  great  is  the  honor  of  being  permitted  to  glo- 
rify God,  Before  it,  how  mean  appears  every  other  mo- 
tive that  actuates  us,  every  other  result  of  our  existence  !  " 


480  CASTE. 

His  eyes  kindled,  and  liis  cheek  glowed ;  and  as  she 
watched  him,  Helen  murmured,  "  It  is  a  reality,  this  re- 
ligion which  you  professed  years  ago,  and  which  has  been 
strengthening  so  silently  and  humbly  within  your  soul. 
But  I  cannot  grasp  it  now.  It  is  an  enigma  I  cannot 
solve  ;  and  yet  I  am  thankful,  Charles,-  that  you  are  thus 
supported.  Perhaps  in  time  I  may  learn  this  lesson. 
Can  you  tell  me  of  Julie  and  the  child : " 

"She  took  it  to  heaven  with  her,"  replied  Charles, 
solemnly,  "  and  I  shall  join  them  there  when  it  pleases 
God." 


Helen  staid  at  the  hotel  with  her  brother  until  the  day 
of  the  funeral.  The  extraordinary  elevation  of  mind 
which  had  so  steadfastly  sustained  him  on  the  night  of 
Julie's  death  continued  with  but  little  change.  His  cares, 
his  fears,  his  perplexities,  had  been  chiefly  for  her ;  and 
in  removing  her,  some  supernattiral  power  seemed  to  have 
removed  him  at  the  same  time  from  the  sphere  M-here 
they  had  ranged,  into  one  where  he  held  daily  and  hourly 
communion  with  heaven  —  a  communion  in  which  he 
learned  more  fully  the  meaning  of  the  discipline  he  had 
endured,  and  gathered  strength  for  the  toils  and  duties  of 
his  after  life.  If  there  were  moments  when  his  loneliness 
became  too  intense,  when  memories  of  the  past  caused 
his  heart  to  throb  heavily,  and  his  eyes  to  overflow,  they 
brought  with  them  no  bitterness  of  grief,  and  no  unchris- 


THEMOURNEB.  481 

tian  rebellion  ;  and  often  he  was  as  surely  conscious  of 
Julie's  presence  as  if  he  had  felt  her  soft  hand  in  his,  and 
heard  her  wliispering  of  peace. 

He  did  not  leave  his  chamber,  and  admitted  few  visit- 
ors ;  though  many,  who  might  otherwise  have  held  them- 
selves aloof,  were  melted  by  his  last  misfortune,  and  eager 
to  express  their  sympathy.  But  -from  the  house  that  had 
so  long  been  his  home  there  came  to  him  no  token  of 
remembrance  or  pity,  and  he  could  not  intrude  himself 
within  its  doors  until  the  hour  appointed  for  the  funeral. 
Then,  alone,  and  dressed  in  deep  mourning,  he  bent  his 
steps  towards  it.  A  great  crowd  were  collected  within 
and  about  it ;  but  his  face  was  buried  in  his  cloak,  and  he 
saw  not  the  compassionate  glances  which  followed  him  as 
he  passed  among  them. 

In  the  parlor,  at  the  right  side  of  the  hall,  he  saw  the 
coffin  standing  upon  a  table  ;  and  approaching,  he  looked 
once  more  on  that  dear  face,  which  was  wont  to  flush  with 
joy  at  his  coming.  Ah,  never,  never  more,  through  all 
the  weary  years,  should  his  heart  thrill  to  meet  that 
glance.  Beautiful  and  beloved  as  she  was,  the  icy  repose 
of  the  grave  was  on  her  now,  and  all  the  passion  and 
power  of  human  love  could  not  move  its  calm.  Never 
had  he  felt  so  utterly  alone,  so  widely  separated  from  her, 
as  in  standing  beside  her  there,  in  clasping  the  hands 
which  lay  so  white  on  her  bosom,  and  gazing  on  the  se- 
rene loveliness  of  the  coffined  dead. 
41 


482 


And  yet  lie  could  not  tear  himself  away.  In  this  house 
there  seemed  now  no  place  for  him,  except  that  which 
her  presence  sanctified  from  the  entrance  of  worldly  and 
evil  thoughts.  The  family  were  assembled  in  a  room 
adjoining  ;  but  when  one  of  the  neighbors  invited  him  to 
enter  there,  he  quietly  refused,  and  remained  leaning  on 
the  coffin  until  the  services  were  over.  Then  with  his 
OAvn  hand  he  closed  the  lid,  and  bending  over  it  in  silent 
prayer,  breathed  low  and  deep  a  last  farewell,  and  fol- 
lowed it  from  the  house. 

No  carriage  had  been  provided  for  him,  but  Mr.  Avenel 
offered  his.  He  entered  and  took  his  place  at  the  head 
of  the  long  procession  ;  and  when  the  rural  cemetery  was 
reached,  he  stood  as  chief  mourner  by  the  grave. 

Mr.  Conant  had  not  intended  this  should  be.  In  his  bit- 
ter anger,  in  his  sullen  stubbornness,  he  would  have  ig- 
nored Charles's  right  to  be  numbered  with  his  family  ;  but 
the  quiet  dignity  wherewith  the  proceeding  had  been 
conducted  compelled  him  to  silence. 

The  coffin  was  lowered  into  the  grave,  and  the  proces- 
sion moved  away;  but  Charles  lingered  long  beside  it.- 
The  shadows  of  evening  lowered  around  him  ;  the  fitful 
breezes  whirled  the  dead  leaves  in  rustling  wreaths,  that 
fell  over  his  feet,  and  into  the  open  chasm,  as  if  hastening 
to  hide  the  treasure  he  had  laid  there.  Through  the 
naked  branches  of  the  trees  he  looked  xvp  and  saw  the 
stars  come  out  one  by  one,  keen  glittering  in  the  frosty 
air.     How  far  off  they  seemed !  how  unapproachable  in 


DUST     UNTO     DUST.  483 

their  glory  !  how  their  unsympathizing  brightness  mocked 
the  desolate,  cheerless  spot  to  which  his  life  was  bound  ! 
Tears  blinded  his  eyes  as  he  gazed,  and  he  prayed  that 
he  too  might  die. 

At  that  moment  a  sharp,  rattling  sound  struck  his  ear. 
It  was  the  first  earth  falling  on  the  cofiin ;  for  the  sexton 
had  grown  Aveary,  and  commenced  filling  up  the  grave. 

With  an  irrepressible  moan  of  anguish,  he  turned 
away;  and  as  he  did  so,  Ned  Conant  stood  before  him, 

"  You  are  here  still ;  I  hoped  I  should  find  you ;  I 
hurried  back,  for  I  noticed  you  staid  beh  ad,"  he  said,  in 
an  excited  tone,  and  so  rapidly  that  Charles  hardly  knavr 
■\\'hether  the  greeting  was  friendly  or  '  ♦^herwise.  But 
while  he  hesitated  and  looked  at  him  inquiringly,  the  im- 
pvdsive  boy  threw  himself  upon  his  arm,  and  burst  into 
tears. 

"  Let  us  come  away  from  here,  Ned  —  from  these 
dreadful  sounds,"  said  Charles,  struggling  for  composure. 

They  walked  on  a  short  distance,  and  presently  Ned 
recovered  himself,  and  began  talking  in  a  broken,  embar- 
rassed manner. 

"  I  ran  away  ;  I  was  determined  I  would  see  you ;  we 
are  all  of  us  most  dead  about  it.  Father  has  acted  like  a 
brute,"  he  added,  vehemently. 

"  Hush,"  exclaimjed  Charles  ;  "  I  don't  want  to  think 
about  that  now." 

"  But  I  must  tell  you,  Charles,  or  you  would  think  I 
joined  in  with  the  rest  of  'em.     I  don't  see  what  possesses 


484 


'em  all.  If  you  had  been  a  real  black  fellow,  there  might 
be  some  sense  in  making  a  fuss,  for  black  ain't  a  very 
handsome  color  on  the  face,"  he  continued,  bluntly,  his 
unconquerable  love  of  fun  gleaming  out  even  here.  "  But 
being  as  you  are,  I  don't  see  how  you  are  any  Avorse  for 
having  ancestors  that  lived  in  Africa  some  hundred  years 
back.  I  say,  Charles,  it's  a  mean  piece  of  business  to 
treat  you  so.  And  little  Julie  !  O  Charles,  the  house 
seems  like  a  tomb  without  her;  "  and  again  the  boy  burst 
into  tears. 

Charle«  hardly  knew  how  to  reply  to  him  ;  but  without 
atfy  reference  to  himself,  he  tried  to  calm  and  soothe. 
When  he  had  in  some  measure  succeeded,  Ned  said,  more 
quietly,  "  I  feel  better,  now  I  have  seen  you.  I  always 
liked  you,  and  felt  as  if  somehow  she  would  be  glad  to 
know  that  I  told  you  so  now.  I  don't  know  how  far  off 
heaven  is,  but  she  must  be  changed  a  good  deal  if  they 
are  able  to  keep  her  from  taldng  an  interest  in  knowing 
what  we  are  about  down  here  ;  and  it'll  take  as  much 
as  one  angel  to  comfort  her,  if  she  finds  you  are  unhappy." 

"  My  dear  boy,  it  is  a  great  comfort  to  me  to  know  your 
feelings  are  unchanged.  You  are  right,  too,  in  supposing 
Julie  would  be  glad  of  it.  Do  you  know  what  some  of 
her  last  words  were  ?  "  he  added,  tremulously. 

"  No.  They  said  she  whispered  so  low  that  nobody 
could  hear." 

"Jhi^ard  her.  She  said,  '  They  will  be  kind  to  you 
when  I  am  gone.'  " 


THE     MANI.Y     HEART.  485 

He  broke  down  utterly  in  repeating  these  words,  and 
for  some  time  could  not  speak  again. 

"  Poor  little  Julie,  what  a  darling  she  was !  "  said  Ned, 
mournfully.  "  I  must  tell  father  of  that,"  he  added,  after 
a  pause  ;  "  for,  Charles,  I'm  afraid  he  won't  be  kind  to 
you.  He  seems  to  hate  you  —  as  if  you  could  have 
helped  it !  And  he  has  forbidden  us  to  speak  to  you  any 
more." 

"And  yet  you  are  here,"  rejoined  Charles. 

"  Yes,  I  was  bound  to  have  a  talk  with  you,  at  any 
rate ;  and  I'll  come  and  see  you  as  often  as  I  can,  without 
letting  him  know.  I  believe  mother  would  be  glad  to  see 
you,  if  father  wasn't  so  shocking  angry." 

"  No,  Ned,  you  must  not  come  to  see  me,  if  your  father 
has  forbidden  it,"  replied  Charles.  "  Your  duty  to  him 
is  superior  to  any  you  owe  to  me  ;  and  now  I  know  you 
feel  kindly,  I  shall  not  think  your  heart  is  changed 
towards  me  because  your  conduct  must  be." 

"  I  don't  think  I  am  obliged  to  obey  such  an  unreason- 
able command,"  said  Ned,  resolutely. 

"  I  do,"  answered  Charles  ;  "  and  since  I  can  never 
forget  how  kind  your  father  once  was  to  me,  I  should  be 
very  sorry  to  have  him  think  I  encouiaged  you  in  any  act 
of  disobedience,  even  if  it  were  not  wrong." 

"  Well,"  answered  Ned,  thoughtfully,  after  a  long 
silence,  during  which  they  had  reached  the  gate  of  the 
cemetery,  "  I  think  you  are  a  little  bit  too  awful  good  ; 
but  if  you  say  I  must  mind,  I  suppose  I  must.     But  I  am 


486  CASTE. 

not  obliged  to  think  as  lie  does,  and  I  won't.  There's  no 
rhyme  or  reason  in  the  way  he  goes  on." 

"  I  am  going  away  soon,  and  time  and  absence  may 
soften  his  feelings  towards  me,"  replied  Charles.  "  But 
if  not,  do  not  let  me  occasion  any  trouble  between  you. 
I  would  rather  perish  than  be  the  cause  of  strife  or  sep- 
aration in  your  once  happy  family.  You  can  adhere  to 
principle  without  mentioning  personalities." 

"  ^Vhat  shall  I  do,  then?  "  asked  the  boy;  "  I  want  to 
be  of  use  to  you,  in  some  way." 

"  You  can  remember  these  scenes,  though  you  never 
speak  of  them ;  and  when  you  are  a  man,  act  in  reference 
to  these  subjects  as  you  think  Julie  would  approve,  in 
the  pure  and  peaceful  home  from  whence  she  bends  to 
watch  over  us." 

"  That  I  ■\\ill,"  said  jN'ed,  earnestly.  "  I  feel  ever  so 
much  better  for  having  this  talk  with  you ;  and  if  I  don't 
have  another  very  soon,  you'll  know  the  reason.  Good 
by,  now,  for  I  must  get  home  before  it  is  dark." 

His  good  by  was  returned  by  a  prolonged  clasp  of 
the  hand,  and  with  repeated  assurances  of  friendship  they 
parted ;  and  Charles  returned  to  the  hotel,  sincerely 
thankful  for  the  kindly  impulse  which  had  prompted  this 
conversation. 


Weeks  and  months  passed  away.     Before  the  cold  of 
winter  ribbed  the    river  with   ice,   and  buried  hill  and 


PKIDE     AND    DESPAIR.  487 

valley  beneath  drifts  of  snow,  Charles  Dupre  settled  the 
affairs  of  his  copartnership,  and  went  to  study  theology 
with  an  old  clergyman,  in  the  to^vn  where  his  boyhood 
had  been  spent.  Helen  wished  to  accompany  him;  but 
she  could  be  of  no  service  in  this  preparation  for  a  life  of 
labor,  and  Mrs.  Avenel  insisted  that  she  should  remain 
with  her.  For  Helen  was  in  that  state  of  mind  when  all 
her  friends  knew  it  was  not  best  she  should  be  much  alone, 
and  at  liberty  to  brood  over  her  own  wretchedness.  She 
made  no  comj^laints,  and  she  shrank  haughtily,  almost 
defiantly,  from  expressions  of  pity  or  sympathy ;  but  the 
severe  melancholy  of  her  pallid  face  told  how  deep  and 
keen  was  the  sufiering  she  endured  in  such  proud 
silence. 

With  Mrs.  Avenel,  whose  kindness  had  never  for  a 
moment  failed,  she  could  not  be  otherwise  than  gentle  ; 
but  she  was  so  quick  to  read  the  meaning  of  an  involun- 
tary word  or  look,  so  prompt  to  resent  a  cold  civility  or 
an  intended  slight,  —  and  there  were  some  persons  cruel 
enough  to  award  both  to  her  changed  social  position,  — 
that  her  soured  and  misanthropic  feelings  became  daily 
more  fixed,  and  life  more  than  ever  worthless  and  pur- 
poseless. Even  her  brother's  affection  and  Colonel  Bell's 
unwearying  solicitude  failed  to  elicit  any  strong  emotion, 
or  awaken  energy  or  hope.  All  the  strength  of  her* 
nature  was  absorbed  in  doing  battle  with  the  memories 
which  would  not  be  driven  or  charmed  away. 

She  did  not  know  that  Hubert  had  been  the  victim  of 


488  CASTE. 

a  long  and  dangerous  illness  ;  for  she  had  never  men- 
tioned his  name,  and  recoiled  so  sensitively  from  any  allu- 
sion to  him,  that  from  delicacy,  as  well  as  from  a  desire 
to  spare  her  anxiety,  those  Avho  knew  of  it  had  refrained 
from  informing  her.  She  thought  he  had  quietly  accept- 
ed her  command  to  leave  her ;  and  though  it  was  sincere, 
though  she  would  have  forbidden  him  to  follow  her,  she 
was,  by  a  natural  contradiction  of  feeling,  disappointed 
that  he  could,  so  entirely  and  with  such  apparent  willing- 
ness, obey ;  that  he  could  leave  her,  ill  and  perhaps 
friendless,  without  one  token  of  recollection,  if  not  of  love. 
She  scorned  herself  that  she  could  not  scorn  him  ;  she 
fought  with  desperate  passion  against  the  yearning  of 
her  soul.  No  iconoclast  ever  raised  his  hand  against  an 
idol  with  more  vengeful  purpose  than  she  uplifted  hers  to 
smite  from  her  heart's  altar  the  image  she  had  worshipped  ; 
but  the  old  idolatry  was  too  strong,  and  the  blow  ever 
changed  to  a  caress,  and  the  struggle  ended  in  weakness 
and  prostration.  At  times  her  moods  were  wildly  gay 
and  brilliant,  and  full  of  feverish  mirth  and  energy,  that 
made  her  talk  and  laugh ;  and  generally,  when  with  the 
family,  she  made  an  effort  to  be  cheerful,  that  she  might 
not  cast  a  gloom  over  the  domestic  circle  ;  but  they  all 
noticed  that  she  never  sang,  and  always  left  them  when 
jnusic  was  introduced,  as  if  it  was  linked  with  associa- 
tions too  painful  to  be  borne  ;  and  when  alone  with  Mrs. 
Avenel,  where  she  knew  no  disguise  was  necessary,  her 
uniform  dejection  and  quiet  told  of  the  bitterness  within. 


THE     MYSTERY     OF     GODLINESS.  489 

Her  brother  often  came  to  see  her  ;  for  after  the  scene 
of  frantic  excitement  -svhich  he  alone  had  witnessed  in  her 
chamber  at  the  Pines,  he  was  apprehensive  that  the  con- 
flict of  emotion  might  end  in  insanity ;  and  he  earnestly 
desired  to  impart  some  of  the  precious  consolations  which 
made  it  possible  for  him  to  be  content,  and  even  happy, 
notwithstanding  his  altered  circumstances  and  his  lonely 
lot.  But  the  grace  of  submission  would  naturally  have 
been  more  difficult  for  Helen  than  for  Charles ;  and  ha\ing 
lived  so  long  in  utter  thoughtlessness  of  religious  truths, 
it  was  now  doubly  hard  for  her  t^  feel  their  force  amid 
the  exasperation  and  impatience  that  daily  convulsed  her 
soul. 

It  was  during  one  of  his  visits,  when  he  had  left  her 
after  a  protracted  conversation,  that  she  sat  a  long  time 
silent,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  fire,  and  her  counte- 
nance expressing  deep  thought  and  perplexity.  Mrs. 
Avenel  did  not  disturb  her  revery,  and  the  slight  rustling 
of  her  sewing  and  the  crackling  of  the  blazing  embers 
alone  broke  the  silence.  Out  of  doors,  the  snow  was 
sinking  softly,  in  large  flakes,  through  a  still  hazy  atmos- 
phere, which  made  the  clouds  seem  so  very  low  that  the 
children  said  the  sky  Avas  falling. 

"I  cannot  comprehend  it,"  said  Helen,  at  length,  ad-^ 
dressing  her  friend.  "  Do  you  not  think  Charles"  s  state 
of  feeling  very  remarkable  ?  " 

"  I  do,  and  yet  it  is  but  that  simple  and  childlike  mind 
wherein  the   Scriptures  bid  us    '  cast    all  our  care  upon 


490  CASTE. 

Him  who  careth  for  us.'  When  one  does  this  truly, 
sincerely,  the  burden  becomes  light,  because  of  the  Al- 
mighty hand  which  aids  us  to  bear  it." 

"  But  the  ability  to  do  this  constantly,  without  reserva- 
tion or  misgiving,  cannot  be  gained  in  a  moment.  What 
would  I  not  give  if  I  could  now,  for  one  hour  only,  feel 
as  Charles  does,  and  be  rid  of  the  weary  heart-aching 
that,  night  or  day,  sleeping  or  waking,  never  leaves  me ! 
How  he  loved  his  -wife  !  and  yet  he  can  speak  calmly  of 
her  death.  How  bright  his  prospects  were !  how  sud- 
denly they  were  blighted !  and  yet  he  refers  to  them 
Avithout  repining,  and  sometimes  becomes  quite  animated 
in  looking  forward  to  a  life  of  toil  and  self-denial.  When 
he  first  began  to  talk  thus,  I  thought  it  was  the  efiect  of 
excitement,  and  would  not  last ;  but  now,  three  months 
have  passed,  and  he  seems  even  stronger-hearted  than  at 
first.  Can  it  be  delusion  of  fancy  which  serves  him  in- 
stead of  solid  happiness  ?  or  does  he  really  have  the  peace 
of  mind  he  seems  to  enjoy  ?  Overwhelmed  with  the 
same  misfortune,  I  find  jnyself  in  a  case  so  difierent, 
that  sometimes  I  cannot  believe  in  the  reality  of  his 
emotions." 

"  I  think  you  need  not  doubt.  Did  not  Christ  prom- 
ise that  those  who  were  entirely  devoted  to  him,  giving 
up  all  worldly  good,  should  receive  '  a  thousand  fold  in 
this  life,'  as  well  as  life  eternal  in  the  world  to  come  ? 
Now,  this  '  thousand  fold  '  must  of  course  refer  to  spirit- 
ual blessings,  so  great  as  to  entirely  fill  the  soul,  and  be  a 


TIME     BRINGS     SO     RELIEF.  491 

source  of  happiness,  like  tangible  objects.  If  this  is  prom- 
ised, it  can  surely  be  granted  ;  and  your  brother  is  one 
proof  among  many  others,  that  these  words, arc  true," 

"  Charles  was  religious  from  his  boyhood,"  replied 
Helen,  thoughtfully  ;  "  but  I  never  realized  how  very  good 
he  was  until  now."' 

"  We  cannot  always  estimate  the  growth  of  divine 
grace  in  the  soul.  Sometimes  those  who  seem  to  have 
the  most  of  it  faint  and  fail  when  the  hour  of  trial  comes ; 
and  there  are  others  who  live  on  humbly  and  quietly  from 
day  to  day,  hardly  conscious  themselves  how^  closely  they 
guard  their  spiritual  being,  until  suddenly  the  beautiful 
plant,  wdiich  has  grow-n  unnoticed  among  meaner  flowers, 
is  crowned  with  such  splendid  and  perfect  fruit  as  to 
attract   the   gaze   of  all." 

"  I  am  afraid  there  has  been  nothing  but  weeds  grow- 
ing in  my  heart's  garden,  and  now  the  fruit  is  poisonous," 
replied  Helen,  smiling  sadly.  "  O  Mrs.  Avenel,  so  rich 
as  you  are  in  husband,  children,  social  position,  —  every 
thing  that  makes  happiness, — how  can  you  appreciate  the 
terrible  desolation  of  my  condition  ?  You  have  had  trials 
—  you  have  made  sacrifices ;  but  still  there  was  one  on 
whom  all  your  faith  and  hope  was  cast,  who  could  say, 
'  I  am  thine  ;  I  w^ill  go  with  thee  ;  thou  shalt  be  to  me 
instead  of  home  and  friends.'  But  how  different  to  be 
forsaken,  to  be  cast  out,  like  a  flower  torn  from  the 
blessed  wreath  of  household  charities,  to  lie  broken  and 
fading  on  the  ground,   and   be   trodden   under  foot !     I 


492  CASTE. 

know  it  is  vain  for  me  to  struggle  or  rebel,  but  I  cannot 
help  it.  The  soul  will  writhe  and  quiver,  as  it  feels  tlie 
pressure  of  .its  chains.  If  I  could  see  clearly  —  if  I 
knew  perfectly  —  it  might  be  easy  to  live.  But  to  grope 
thus  amid  thick  shadows,  to  weary  myself  with  vain  toils, 
to  pant  thus  for  the  fountain  whose  cool  waters  may  never 
lave  my  brow  or  lip  —  0,*why  do  I  live?  Many  far 
stronger  and  happier  are  cut  down,  and  the  earth  covers 
them.     Would  I,  too,  could  die  !  " 

Her  voice  failed  in  broken  sobs,  and  she  buried  her 
face  in  her  hands.  Mrs.  Avenel  left  her  seat,  and  kneel- 
ing beside  her,  laid  one  arm  over  the  bowed  neck,  and 
with  her  cheek  pressed  to  hers,  said  sadly,  — 

"  Ah  !  well  is  it  for  us,  weak  creatures  of  earth,  that 
there  is,  beyond  the  skies,  an  infinite  love,  alone  sufficient 
to  fill  the  infinite  capacities  of  our  nature.  Dear  Helen, 
can  you  not  believe  in  it,  and  accept  it  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  ?  How  shall  I  ?  "  said  Helen,  looking  up. 
"  Here  is  my  favorite  author  ;  let  him  teach  us,"  said 
Mrs.  Avenel,  smiling  gently.  "  He  was  a  man  of  large 
spiritual  experience,  and  I  can  almost  always  find  some- 
thing here  that  expresses  my  thoughts  better  than  I  can 
do  ;  "  and  taking  up  a  small  book,  which  lay  on  her  work 
table,  she  read  a  few  passages  aloud  :  — 

"  '  My  son,  forsake  thyself,  and  thou  shalt  find  me. 
"  '  For  greater  grace  shall  be  added  to  thee,  the  moment 
thou  dost  fully  resign  thyself,  if  thou  dost  not  turn  lack 
to  take  thyself  again. 


"out   of   hie   mouth    of   babes.*'      493 

"  '  Give  all  for  all  —  seek  nothing,  require  back  noth- 
ing ;  abide  purely  and  with  a  firm  confidence  in  me,  and 
thou  shalt  possess  me  ;  thou  shalt  be  free  in  heart,  and 
darkness  shall  not  tread  thee  down. 

"  '  Let  this  be  thy  whole  endeavor  ;  let  this  be  thy 
prayer,  this  thy  desire  —  that  being  stripped  of  all  selfish- 
ness, thou  mayst  with  entire  simplicity  follow  Jesus  only, 
and  dying  to  thyself,  mayst  live  eternally  to  me. 

"  '  Then  shall  all  vain  imaginations,  evil  perturbations, 
and  superfluous  cares  fly  away. 

"  '  Then,  also,  immoderate  fear  shall  leave  thee,  and 
inordinate  love  shall  die.'  " 

Helen  listened  earnestly,  and  when  her  friend  had 
finished,  took  the  volume  and  read  them  again  silent- 
ly ;  but  she  made  no  reply,  and  not  wishing  to  urge 
the  subject  too  far,  Mrs.  Avenel  left  her  to  the  revery 
which  followed,  and  soon  after  stole  quietly  from  the 
room. 

There  was  one  member  of  the  family  whose  whole 
heart  glowed  ^\-ith  a  desire  to  be  of  some  service  to  the 
unfortunate  girl.  This  was  Henrj-,  who  had  watched  her 
varying  moods  with  a  painful  sympathy  and  comprehen- 
sion beyond  his  years.  Now,  seated  quietly  with  his 
book  in  the  recessed  -w-indow,  imheeded  or  forgotten,  he 
had  heard  the  conversation  we  have  related,  and,  trem- 
bling all  over  with  excited  feeling,  he  could  not  refrain 
from  gliding  to  Helen's  side,  after  Mrs.  Avenel  had  left 
42 


494  CASTE. 

her  ;  and  seating  himself  on  the  floor  at  her  feet,  he  said, 
in  a  choked  voice,  — 

"  I  know  just  how  you  feel.  O  Miss  Helen,  I  used 
to  feel  so  too.  I  used  to  think  I  would  give  all  the  world 
if  I  only  could  be  different  from  what  I  am.  I  used  to 
feel  as  if  I  should  die  when  I  saw  how  negroes  were 
treated  by  most  folks,  and  thought  that  never,  never,  in 
all  my  life,  could  I  help  being  black.  When  I  looked  at 
other  boys,  and  saw  how  much  better  off  they  were,  I 
used  to  be  real  angry  with  God,  and  feel  as  if  I  hated 
every  body  else." 

Hqlen  had  been  at  first  startled  by  his  sudden  appear- 
ance, and  then  she  became  interested  and  aroused  by  his 
earnest  manner.  Child  as  he  was,  he  had  penetrated  her 
impotent  rebellion,  her  despairing  grief,  and  pressing  the 
hand  he  had  laid  timidly  on  her  knee,  she  said,  — 

"You  don't  appear  to  feel  like  this.  One  would  think 
you  were  happy." 

"  So  I  am,  now  —  most  of  the  time  :  sometimes  I  get 
wrong,  somehow,  and  then  things  trouble  me  again.  It 
was  Mrs.  Avenel  helped  me  at  first.  O  Miss  Helen,  if 
you  would  only  submit  to  God !  That  makes  every  thing 
easy." 

"  I  do,  child,"  said  Helen,  proudly,  and  half  impatiently, 
"  I  do  submit.  What  else  can  I  do  ?  I  must  submit  —  I 
can't  do  any  thing  else." 

"  O,  that   isn't  submitting  —  not  while  you   feel  so," 


WHAT     SUBMISSION     IS.  495 

replied  Henry.  "  That  is  only  fighting  and  getting 
beaten." 

A  sudden  light  flashed  through  Helen's  soul ;  all  that 
had  been  said  had  failed  to  unveil  herself  to  her  mental 
vision,  as  did  these  few  childlike  words.  Her  cheek 
crimsoned  with  a  quick  rush  of  emotion,  and  dropping 
his  hand,  she  gazed  on  him  in  surprise.  He  feared  she 
was  offended  ;  but  presently  she  said,  in  a  quiet  tone,  — 

"  What  is  it,  then,  to  be  submissive  ?  " 

"I  don't  know  as  I  can  tell  exactly,"  he  said,  "  l^t  it 
seems  to  me  it  is  to  be  real  glad  we  can't  have  our  own 
way,  and  that  God  governs  us  all  the  time,  and  makes 
every  thing  happen  to  us  just  as  he  thinks  best." 

"  How  long  have  you  known  this  ?  "  asked  Helen. 

"  I've  known  it  a  good  while,  for  Mrs.  Avenel  told  me  ; 
but  I  didn't  really /eeZ  so  until  about  a  year  ago."  And 
then  he  went  on  to  tell  her  of  his  unhappiness  and  trials  ; 
and  how,  shut  up  in  his  heart,  they  had  burned  like  fire  ; 
until  at  length,  unable  to  endure  them,  he  had  revealed 
them  to  his  protector,  Mrs.  Avenel.  He  told  of  her  ad- 
vice, of  the  new  and  holier  life  that  opened  to  him  as  she 
spoke  of  the  honor  of  humility,  of  the  happiness  of  self- 
sacrifice,  of  the  nobleness  of  living  for  holiness  instead 
of  pleasure.  Helen  listened,  astonished  at  the  develop- 
ment of  heart  and  mind  his  words  evinced ;  and  as  she 
heard  this  boyish  experience  of  struggles  so  nearly  akin 
to  her  own,  she  realized  that  the  faith  which  sustains  and 


496  CASTE. 

clieers  was  no  fiction  of  the  imagination,  no  unattainable 
abstraction,  but  something  which  a  child  can  grasp  ;  and 
for  the  first  time  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  distinction 
between  the  sorrow  that  elevates  and  purifies,  and  "  the 
sorrow  of  the  world,  which  worketh  death." 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-FIFTH. 


"  Live  and  lore, 
Doing  both  nobly  because  lowlily. 
Live  and  worls  strongly,  because  patiently 
*        *        *        And  thence  with  constant  prayers 
Fasten  your  souls  so  high,  that  evermore 
The  smile  of  yoiir  heroic  cheer  may  float 
Above  all  floods  of  earthly  agonies  — 
Purification  being  the  joy  of  pain." 


Persons  sometimes  undergo  a  change  of  thought  and 
feeling  to  which  human  language  can  do  little  justice. 
In  the  simple  and  forcible  words  of  Scripture  it  is  called 
"  the  new  birth ;  "  and  perhaps  this  figure,  better  than, 
any  other,  expresses  the  sudden  dawning  of  light  upon 
the  hitherto  darkened  mind  ;  and  the  thrill  of  life  which 
runs  through  the  nerves  with  the  first  breathing  in  of  the 
divine  influences,  which  are  henceforth  to  be  the  indis- 
pensable support  of  spiritual  existence.  This  change 
Helen  had  experienced  —  this  change,  so  mighty,  so  mys- 
terious, that  none  can  understand,  and  few  can  even  fully 
believe  in  it,  except  those  who  have  individually  realized 
its  power.  She  scarcely  knew  how  to  comprehend  the 
profound  calm  which  soothed  and  upheld  her  spirit,  as  a 
mother  lulls  the  babe  on  her  bosom,  hushing  it  to  a 
deeper  rest  because  of  its  former  crying. 

42  *  (497) 


498  CASTE. 

Gone  was  now  the  stormy  and  turbulent  grief  which 
had  dashed  against  her  soul,  wave  after  wave,  benumbing 
and  hardening,  as  the  freezing  waters  of  the  arctic  zone 
dash  on  their  shores  of  ice ;  gone  the  sullen  despair 
which  had  wrapped  her  about  as  a  pall.  Filled  with 
wonder  and  gratitude,  she  had  submitted  to  the  rite 
whereby  we  are  commanded  to  signify  the  death  to  sin 
and  the  resurrection  to  holiness,  and  in  the  liquid  grave, 
where  she  had  been  laid,  all  the  past  years  seemed  buried, 
and  she  raised  thence  to  a  new  and  hallowed  life. 

Her  circumstances  and  prospects  were  the  same  as 
before  ;  nothing  had  changed  since  the  hour  when  self- 
destruction  seemed  the  only  good.  What,  then,  was  it 
which  gave  her  strength  and  courage  to  look  calmly  at 
the  futujre,  to  think  of  the  past  Avith  a  resignation  which 
made  if  easy  to  remember  suffering,  and  to  bless  the 
Providence  which  had  stricken  from  her  hands  all  the 
precious  things  she  held  so  closely,  that  they  might  be 
filled  with  treasures  infinitely  satisfying  and  eternal  ? 

Could  this  be  fancy  —  the  delusion  of  an  excited  brain  ? 
Ah,  no  !  A  man  blind  from  his  birth  may  deny  the 
existence  of  light ;  but  what  argument,  however  lucid, 
however  plausible  to  him  who  utters  it,  can  be  convincing 
to  one  who  has  beheld  the  glory  of  the  sunshine  ?  and 
there  are  emotions  which  strike  the  soul  with  convictions 
as  definite  and  immovable  as  any  evidence  addressed  to 
the  senses.  Unhappy  he  on  whom  this  spiritual  life  has 
never  da^yned. 


A     SABBATH     EVEXIXG.  499 

It  was  the  close  of  a  warm  Sabbath  in  early  spring, 
and  a  Sabbath  stillness  seemed  to  brood  in  the  clear  light 
which  filled  the  valley,  and  flushed  the  silver  cloudlets 
in  the  west  with  rainbow  hues,  as  the  sun  sank  below  the 
horizon.  From  the  blue  river  course  the  hills  stretched 
away,  lifting  themselves  in  trce-cro^\Tied  luidulations. 
Banks  of  snow  lay  beside  the  fences,  and  in  shady  nooks 
and  hollows,  and  along  the  furrows  of  the  ploughed 
fields ;  but  through  the  groves  a  faint,  uncertain  tinge  of 
green  was  brightening,  in  sunny  spots  the  grass  was 
springing,  and  the  water  was  draining  slowly  from  the 
swollen  brooks  and  the  meadow  lands. 

The  Avenel  family  were  assembled  in  their  cozy  parlor,- 
where  every  thing  breathed  an  air  of  home  comfort.  The 
children,  seated  behind  the  curtains  in  the  bay  windows, 
were  bending  their  eager  little  heads  together,  and  whis- 
pering low  over  a  book  of  colored  engravings,  while  their 
elders  were  listening  silently  to  the  music  which  floated 
through  the  room,  as  the  organ  gave  out  its  deep,  rich 
tones  beneath  the  touch  of  Helen's  fingers.  She  had 
been  playing  some  of  Beethoven's  inspired  airs  ;  but  as 
the  daylight  faded,  and  the  firelight  began  to  cast  its 
flickering  shadows,  the  notes  glided  dreamily  into  a  siijipler 
strain ;  and  in  a  voice  slightly  tremulous  with  emotion, 
she  sang  words  humble  and  yet  triumphant,  which  told 
whence  came  the  serene  joy  that  rested  on  her  face,  and 
gleamed  softly  fiom  her  eyes,  and  mantled  with  a  faint 


500 


glow  the  cheek  that  had  been  so   white   with  the  stain 
of  her  rebellious  tears. 


"  Earth  may  trouble  and  distress  me  — 
'Twill  but  drive  me  to  thy  breast ; 
Life  with  trials  hard  may  press  me  — 
Heaven  will  give  me  sweeter  rest. 
0,  'tis  not  in  grief  to  harm  me, 
While  thy  love  is  left  to  me ; 
0,  'twere  not  in  joj-  to  charm  me, 
Were  that  joy  apart  from  thee." 


A  hand  was  laid  gently  over  her  lips,  and  Charles  said,  — 

"  We  must  deny  ourselves  the  pleasure  of  hearing  you, 

Helen,  for   you  know  the  doctor  has  forbidden  you   to 


smar. 


She  smiled,  and  turning  away  from  the  instrument, 
placed  herself  beside  him  on  the  sofa,  where  Colonel  Bell 
was  also  seated ;  who,  accompanied  by  the  elder  Mrs, 
Avenel,  had  arrived  in  town  a  few  days  previous. 

"  Your  voice  is  almost  as  strong,  and  fully  as  sweet  as 
ever ;  and  if  it  were  not  for  that  hacking  cough,  which 
sounds  its  warning  now  and  then,  I  could  hardly  believe 
that  you  are  in  any  danger,  you  look  so  much  better 
than  when  I  saw  you  last,"  said  Colonel  Bell. 

"  She  looks  happier,  and  that  makes  a  very  great  diflfer- 
ence,"'said  Charles,  gazing  fondly  on  his  sister. 

"  I  am  happier  —  I  was  very,  very  wretched  then,"  she 
replied,  tranquilly. 

"  And  I  am  so  selfish,  that  I  am  glad  to  have  you  a 
little  ill,"  said  Colonel  Bell,  since  otherwise  I  should 
have  been  hardly  able  to  induce  you  to  take  this  journey, 


MISSIOXABY     GKOUND.  501 

in  wliich  I  hope  to  enjoy  so  mucli.  Now  we  will  cross 
the  Atlantic,  and  if  the  sea  air  does  not  restore  you,  as  I 
hope  it  will,  a  summer  in  Switzerland  and  Germany  will 
assist  your  cure,  and  an  Italian  climate  complete  it." 

"  It  Avill  be  very  pleasant,"  said  Helen,  "  and  if  I  am 
to  live  I  shall  be  glad  to  be  well  and  strong  again,  and  be 
able  to  enter  upon  my  life  work." 

"What  do  you  mean,"  replied  her  father,  anxiously. 
"  You  surely  do  not  intend  to  accompany  your  brother  to 
Liberia." 

"  I  am  not  going  to  Liberia,"  said  Charles. 
"  I  thought  you  told  me  yesterday  that  you  should  de- 
vote your  life  to  a  missionary  work." 

"  So  I  shall  —  but  it  is  to  my  own  countrymen,  in  my 
native  laud.  There  is  much  to  be  done  here,  before  it 
can  be  of  great  use  to  colonize  Liberia." 

"  Ah,"  said  the  colonel,  a  little  puzzled,  "  I  did  not  un- 
derstand your  views." 

"  They  are  these.  It  seems  to  me  that  the  attention 
of  those  who  desire  to  overthrow  the  monstrous  system 
of  oppression  and  injustice  which  disgraces  this  country 
should  be  directed,  in  a  great  degree,  to  the  work  of  edu- 
cating and  elevating  the  negro  race  residing  in  the  North- 
ern States.  The  force  of  prejudice  and  circumstance 
has  hitherto  kept  the  mass  on  a  level  which  was  only 
elevated  above  that  of  tho  well-kept  servant  of  the  south, 
because  it  was  on  the  vantage  ground  of  freedom  —  an 
immense  difference  in  reality,  as  is  proved  by  the  heroic 


502      -  CASTE. 

efforts  made  to  attain  and  hold  it,  but  -with  such  apparent 
similarity  that  slaveholders  are  continually  pointing  to 
our  colored  population  as  proof  of  the  incapacity  of  the 
race  for  self-support  and  self-guidance.  Helen  has  told 
me  of  this,  and  I  have  seen  something  of  it  myself; 
but  I  never  realized  until  lately  how  strongly  and  bitterly 
the  minds  of  northern  men  were  tinctured  with  the  idea 
of  the  white  man's  supremacy,  and  how  coldly  and  dis- 
dainfully they  look  on  when  one  of  the  oppressed  people 
is  struggling  to  rise." 

He  spoke  with  much  feeling,  and  the  color  flushed 
Helen's  face  as  she  listened  ;  for  both  remembered  many 
disagreeable  evidences  of  the  prejudice  against  color 
which  they  had  already  experienced,  and  deep  in  the 
heart  of  each  lay  a  thought  too  painful  to  be  lightly 
uttered,  yet  well  understood  by  their  companions. 

"If  this  is  the  case,"  said  Colonel  Bell,  after  a  pause, 
during  which  no  one  had  spoken,  "  why  do  you  try  to 
fight  against  it  ?  Why  not  agree  to  my  proposition,  claim 
your  right  to  be  called  one  of  the  superior  race,  and  go 
with  your  sister  and  me  to  those  countries  where  it  will 
not  be  contradicted  or  disputed.  If  there  is  this  hatred 
between  the  races  —  and  I  believe  there  is  —  it  will  be 
much  better  for  philanthropic  people  to  send  the  negroes 
back  to  Africa  for  if  they  live  together  one  must  be 
depressed." 

"  I  thought  so,  too,  at  one  time,"  said  Mr.  Avenel.  "  I 
was  a  great  friend   of    the   '  Colonization  Society,'    and 


COLONIZATION.  503 

looked  with  much  hope  on  the  republic  of  Liberia.  But 
I  am  less  sanguine  now,  and  it  seems  a  less  hopeful 
enterprise  to  send  ignorant,  half-civilized  beings  among 
a  horde  of  savages,  who  could  readily  teach  them  barba- 
rism, but  would  be  slow  to  learn  or  appreciate  the  re- 
straints of  civilization.  If  a  great  work  is  done  here,  in 
Amevica,  Jirst,  that  colony  republic  may  be  the  regenera- 
tion of  Africa  ;  but  if  crude  and  imperfect  materials  only 
are  furnished  from  these  shores,  how  can  we  expect  to 
find  there  the  tools  necessary  to  fashion  them  into  a 
glorious  and  perfect  temple  of  Christianity  and  free- 
dom ? " 

"  It  may  be  as  you  say,"  replied  Colonel  Bell;  "  I  have 
never  thought  much  about  it.  Indeed,  until  recently,  I 
have  never  considered  it  worth  much  thought." 

"  And  then  it  is  utterly  impossible  for  the  colored  pop- 
ulation of  this  coimtry  to  be  expatriated  in  any  considera- 
ble numbers," continued  Mr.  Avencl,  "and  it  is  idle  to 
talk  of  it.  For  better  or  for  worse,  they  are  here,  and 
must  always  remain  our  countrymen ;  and  I  do  not  con- 
sider it  any  evil.  There  are  some  fine  traits  in  the  Afri- 
can character,  which  more  favorable  circumstances  will 
develop  to  the  admiration  of  the  world,  and  in  agreeable 
contrast  to  the  antagonistic  Aices  of  the  Anglo-Saxons. 
There  need  be  no  slavery,  eithfer  of  law  or  of  public  opin- 
ion, in  consequence  of  this  occupation  of  the  country. 
When  both  races  become  more  enlightened,  more  Chris- 
tianized, they  can  live  together  as  peaceably,  and  with  as 


504 


much  mutual  profit,  as,  in  other  countries,  races  as  distinct 
and  less  intermixed  have  lived  and  flourished." 

"  But  will  that  time  ever  come  ?  "  said  Helen,  a  little 
despondingly.  "  I  am  willing  to  work  for  it ;  but  in  think- 
ing of  the  past  and  present,  I  confess  my  faith  is  hardly 
strong  enough  to  overcome  my  fears." 

"Yes,"  replied  her  brother,  —  and  his  clear  eyes  lighted 
with  that  earnest  enthusiasm  of  hope  which  seemed  like 
prophecy,  —  "yes,  that  day  will  come;  and  though  you 
and  I  will  not  live  to  see  it,  we  can  rejoice  to  know  that 
this  tearful  seed  time  shall  then  produce  such  glorious 
and  abundant  harvest.  We  are  working  for  it,  and  our 
reward  is  in  the  grand  future  of  eternity  ;  for  the  feeblest 
effort  is  never  lost." 

Colonel  Bell  looked  at  him  with  surprise  and  some  per- 
plexity. These  philanthropic  aims  and  struggles  were  so 
different  from  the  tenor  of  his  own  life,  that  he  could 
hardly  understand  them,  or  the  motives  from  whence 
they  sprang. 

"  This,  then,  is  your  work,"  he  said,  thoughtfully. 
"  You  mean  to  try  to  elevate  this  miserable  people,  whose 
condition  has  certainly  been  the  most  soothing  considera- 
tion for  the  awakened  conscience  of  a  slaveholder.  I 
think  you  are  right  in  supposing  that  if  it  could  be  done 

—  if  the  negroes  could  become  refined,  educated,  thrifty 

—  it  would  be  the  most  fearful  blow  ever  struck  at  that 
southern  institution,  which  I  have  cursed  and  hated  as 
bitterly   as   you    do,   though   not   as  unselfishly.       But, 


FUTURE     OF     THE     AFRICAN.  505 

Chnrles,  I  tell  you  it  will  be  labor  thrown  away  —  this 
project  of  yours.  Never  was  a  down-trodden  race  ele- 
vated except  through  their  own  efforts  ;  where  they  rely 
upon  others,  they  only  change  masters.  Their  help  must 
come  from  themselves." 

"  You  are  right,"  said  Charles  ;  "  the  struggle,  the  toil, 
the  victory  must  be  theirs,  but  they  can  bo  encouraged  and 
incited  to  effort  by  the  labor  of  others.  Nobody  can  do 
their  Avork  for  them,  and  until  they  see  its  importance,  and 
enter  upon  it  resolutely,  patiently,  and  with  a  persever- 
ance which  no  obstacles  can  overcome,  the  day  of  their 
redemption  will  be  delayed  ;  but  others  can  furnish  them 
with  tools  for  their  work,  with  arms  for  their  warfare." 
He  paused,  and  then  added,  earnestly  and  with  dignity, 
"  Linked  as  I  am  with  both  r^ces,  yet  cut  off  from  all 
that  once  boimd  me  to  regard  the  prejudices  of  the  one, 
I  give  myself  to  the  claims  of  the  other.  My  labor  will 
be  humble,  but  it  mil  not  be  in  vain.  Some  have  already 
entered  this  field,  and  more  will  follow ;  and  Americans 
have  such  a  propensity  to  admire  people  who  struggle 
and  conquer,  that  slowly  but  surely  public  opinion  will 
change,  and  they,  —  we,  —  who  have  been  the  jest  and 
scorn  of  our  countrymen,  will  come  to  be  respected  for 
the  worth  and  power  which  we  shall  develop." 

"  And  when  that  day  comes  the  death-knell  of  slavery 
has  sounded,"  said  Mrs.  Avenel,  her  dark  eves  kindlins. 
"  It  is  for  this  work  I  wish  Henry  to  be  educated." 
43 


606  CASTE. 

Colonel  Bell  had  not  replied  to  Charles,  for  he  could 
not  fully  sympathize  with  his  enthusiasm,  and  he  was  not 
pleased  that  his  son  persisted  in  reminding  himself  and 
them  of  his  connection  with  the  people  for  whom  he  was 
to  labor ;  therefore,  when  Helen  said,  playfully,  in  reply 
to  Mrs.  Avenel's  remark,  "  What  a  missionary  trio  we 
shall  be  !  What  an  amount  of  good  we  shall  accom- 
plish !  "  he  rejoined,  almost  sharply,  — 

"  Why  do  you  say  we  ?  What  do  3^ou  expect  to  have 
to  do  with  it  ?  " 

"  O,  I  shall  keep  school,  and  try  to  make  myself  use- 
ful in  various  ways,"  she  answered,  smiling,  "  besides  the 
very  important  primary  use  of  being  mistress  of  a  home 
for  my  brother,  and  a  confidant  of  his  cares." 

"  Please  yourself  with  such  visions  if  you  will,"  said 
Colonel  Bell,  watching  with  a  jealous  pang  the  affection 
which  beamed  fi-om  her  beautiful  eyes,  as  they  looked  up 
to  Charles  ;  "  but  I  hope  to  have  you  both  in  a  far  pleas- 
anter  home  than  the  one  you  have  pictured,  before  many 
months  have  passed." 

"  You  must  not  tempt  me  too  strongly  to  a  life  of 
indolence,  for  employment  is  the  best  thing  for  both  of 
us,"  Helen  replied.  "  Active  benevolence  is  the  only  sure 
preventive  against  vain  regrets.  We  shall  become  un- 
happy if  we  are  idle." 

"  You  have  promised  to  be  contented  with  my  plans 
for  you  until  your  health  is  restored  ;  and  by  that  time  I 
hope  to  have   made  myaelf  as  necessary  to  you  as  you 


A     XOUK    IN     EUROPE.  507 

now  are  to  me,"  replied  Colonel  Bell,  in  a  low  voice, 
pressing  her  hand  ;  "  when  your  play  time  is  over  will  be 
time  enough  to  talk  about  work;  "  and  unwilling  to  en- 
counter further  opposition,  he  was  glad  that  the  summons 
to  the  tea  table  just  then  put  ah  end  to  the  conversation. 

During  the  time  which  intervened  between  this  even- 
ing and  the  time  fixed  for  their  departure,  Colonel  Bell 
tried  every  available  argument  to  induce  Charles  to 
accompany  Helen  and  himself  abroad ;  but  Charles  was 
anxious  to  enter  upon  the  labor  to  which  he  was  self- 
devoted,  and  firmly  declined  the  tempting  offer.  Helen 
would  not  have  consented  to  leave  him ;  but  her  health 
was  much  worn  with  the  long  agony  she  had  endured, 
and  the  physicians  ordered  change  of  scene  and  climate 
as  indispensable  to  her  recovery.  Her  father's  kindness 
and  generosity,  so  delicately  profiered,  could  not  fail  to 
excite  her  gratitude,  and  gradually  won  for  him  some 
return  to  the  affection  he  lavished  upon  her;  but  she 
clung  to  her  brother  with  an  ardor  which  made  separation 
doubly  painful  to  them  both.  To  be  with  him,  to  cheer 
and  comfort  his  hours  of  loneliness,  to  share  his  labors, 
seemed  now  the  only  pleasant  lot  on  earth;  and  she 
could  hardly  conceal  her  lack  of  interest  in  the  glowing 
schemes  of  amusement  which  Colonel  Bell  delighted  to 
bring  before  her  mind. 

But  he  was  patient.  He  was  determined  to  win  her 
heart,  and  in  his  correspondence  with  her  through  the 
winter,  and  now  in  his  daily  intercourse,  he  watched  her 


508  CASTE. 

assiduously,  and  strove  to  assimilate  his  tastes  to  liers,  to 
become  familiar  with,  the  subjects  which  most  interested 
her,  and  to  gain  command  over  the  subtle  springs  of 
emotion  and  thought.  To  the  Avenels,  who  had  known 
him  only  as  a  quiet,  stern,  and  latterly  as  an  anxious 
and  care-worn  man,  it  was  strange  to  see  how,  in  Helen's 
presence,  he  seemed  rejuvenated  —  full  of  the  long-for- 
gotten enthusiasm  of  his  youth,  and  eager  to  please  her 
lightest  wish.  By  degrees  they  were  all  coming  into  a 
chastened  and  healthy  state  of  feeling.  They  had  cour- 
age now  to  look  calmly  at  their  bitter  disappointment, 
their  cruel  adversity ;  to  realize  all  it  involved,  and  yet  to 
see  some  happiness  left  in  life,  and  to  think  of  their  fel- 
low-men Avithout  im.patience  or  misanthropy.  With  the 
childi-en  this  was  the  residt  of  religious  faith,  and  the 
germ  of  that  heavenly  peace  over  the  growth  of  which 
the  mutations  of  time  can  have  no  power.  With  the 
father  it  was  the  consequence  of  new  hopes  and  plans, 
wherein  he  expected  a  more  entke  satisfaction  than  in 
those  which  had  been  overthrown  —  expectations  that 
years  might  prove  as  unstable  and  uncertain  as  their  pred- 
ecessors. 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-SIXTH. 


"  Know  you  what  it  is  when  anguish,  with  apocalyptic  never, 
To  a  I'ytliian  height  dilates  you,  and  despair  sublimes  to  power  f 

*  «  #  «  *  *  * 

It  plucts  up  the  social  fictions,  —  bloody-rooted  though  Icaf-Terdact, — 

Treads  them  down  with  words  cf  shaming  —  all  the  purple  and  the  gold, 
And  the  'landed  stalies'  and  •  lordships,'  —  all  that  spirits  pure  and  ardent 
Are  cast  out  of  love  and  reverence,  because  chancii:g  not  to  hold." 


HuBEKT  Wakxek  arose,  weakened  in  constitution  and 
with  nerves  all  unstrung,  from  the  long  and  dangerous 
fever,  which,  although  perhaps  contracted  before  he  left 
Cuba,  was  intensely  aggravated  by  the  distress  and  ex- 
citement of  those  first  days  after  his  return.  At  the  time 
Helen  left  the  neighborhood  he  was  raving  wildly  in 
delirium,  and  when  reason  returned,  and  they  were 
obliged  to  answer  his  repeated  demands  for  her  pres- 
ence by  telling  him  of  her  departure,  the  news  came 
near  causing  a  relapse  that  would  have  been  fatal. 

But'  as  he  slowly  recovered,  a  moody  irritability  took 
the  place  of  the  impatient  longing  he  had  felt  for  her ; 
he  ceased  to  speak  of  her,  and  silenced  the  children  who 
had  been  delighted  because  in  his  chamber  they  were 
allowed  the  privilege,  nowhere  else  enjoyed,  of  talking 
endlessly  of  their  dear  and  never-to-be-forgotten  Miss 
Plelen.  Old  feelings,  old  thoughts,  were  reasserting 
43  *  i"^) 


510  CASTE. 

their  dominion.  He  was  trying  to  make  himself  believe 
that  he  could  perhaps  live  without  her ;  that  it  was  a 
folly  unworthy  of  his  manhood  to  throw  away  every  thing 
for  love  ;  that  she  had  shown  a  wilful  pride,  inconsistent 
with  any  deep  affection  for  him,  and  an  unpardonable  cold- 
ness of  heart,  in  leaving  him  at  a  time  when  his  life  trem- 
bled in  the  balance  between  death  and  recovery.  Mrs. 
Avenel  could  have  removed  this  last  conviction,  which  an- 
gered and  pained  him  intolerably,  because  it  bore  some 
semblance  of  truth ;  but  he  was  too  feeble  to  be  master 
of  his  o^vn  actions,  and  by  a  very  skilful  series  of  manoeu- 
vres he  was  prevented  from  having  any  private  conversa- 
tion with  one  who  alone  could  have  told  him  Helen  was 
ignorant  of  his  situation,  then  and  afterwards.  Thus  he 
was  left  to  brood  over  this  thought  —  to  contrast  her  con- 
tinued silence  with  the  warm  anxiety  he  had  manifested 
concerning  her  illness  —  and  to  persuade  himself  that  for 
a  being  so  cold,  so  implacable,  so  haughtily  independent, 
it  was  not  worth  his  while  to  sacrifice  the  earnest  wishes 
and  cherished  prejudices  of  the  family  who  were  so  ten- 
derly devoted  to  him. 

Occasionally  it  occurred  to  him  that  he  was  acting  over 
again  the  old  fable  of  the  wolf  and  the  lamb,  and  that  his 
anger  was  unreasonable  ;  and  there  were  moments  when, 
recalling  her  sensitiveness  and  delicacy  of  feeling,  he 
forgot  to  wonder  at  her  apparent  want  of  interest  in  his 
danger,  and  blamed  himself  more  than  her.  Once  he 
exerted  himself,  until  he  was  exhausted,  in  writing  a  letter 


HUBEKT     IN     ITAI>T.  511 

to  her,  and  for  days  after  waited  in  feverish  impatience 
for  a  reply,  unconscious  that  those  who  were  deter- 
mined to  make  his  union  with  Helen  impossible  had 
destroyed  his  epistle  without  a  single  misgiving.  It  was 
midwinter  before  he  recovered  sufficiently  to  leave  home  — 
and  at  that  season  he  was  assured  a  journey  northward 
would  certainly  be  fatal  to  him  —  an  assurance  in  which 
his  own  reason  joined.  Imbittered  and  weary  of  life,  he 
acceded  to  the  advice  of  a  physician,  and  the  entreaties 
of  his  family,  and  embarked  for  a  voyage  to  the  Mediter- 
ranean. 

From  Genoa  he  wandered  through  Italy,  noting,  with- 
out enthusiasm,  its  thousand  appeals  to  an  all-absorbing 
interest ;  though  the  air  of  melancholy  and  desolation 
which  hangs  over  this  "  Niobe  of  Nations "  accorded 
pleasantly  with  the  vague,  half-acknowledged  conscious- 
ness of  loss  and  defeat  which  continually  accompanied  him. 

If  Helen  had  died  loving  and  knowing  herself  be- 
loved, he  could  have  borne  it ;  perhaps  in  tinie  he  might 
have  loved  again.  But  to  lose  her  thus,  to  knoAV  she  wm 
still  living,  and  that  a  few  days  or  weeks  might  bring  him 
to  her  side,  and  yet  never  more  to  see  her,  never  to  hear 
her  voice,  or  the  sound  of  her  light  footsteps,  but  to  be 
haunted  ever  by  the  memory  of  their  last  inter-\^ew,  to 
know  that  she  deemed  him  recreant,  false,  and  failing  in 
the  hour  of  trial,  incapable  of  the  generous  self-devotion 
she  had  expected,  and  which  she  could  have  met  with  a 
noble  renunciation,  —  this  was  what  goaded  "him  inces- 


512  CASTE. 

santly,  and  moved  him  with,  irresistible  heart  yearnings, 
over  which  distance  and  the  lapse  of  time  had  no  power. 
Yet  the  journey  which  abated  his  mental  disease  so  little 
quite  removed  the  physical  malady ;  for  it  is  a  fact  that 
the  sensitive  muscle  called  the  heart  can,  under  certain 
circumstances,  endure  a  great  deal  of  suffering,  without 
interfering  very  much  with  the  action  of  the  digestive 
organs,  or  the  secretions  of  the  adipose  tissue.  As  spring 
advanced  he  turned  his  steps  towards  Paris,  intending  to 
return  thence,  through  England,  homeward. 

The  day  after  his  arrival  in  this  city  of  the  world,  he 
was  sauntering  through  the  gardens  of  the  Tuileries, 
when  his  attention  was  attracted  by  a  group  sitting  some- 
what apart  from  any  other,  in  a  shady  and  quiet  nook. 

It  was  a  lady  of  middle  age,  whose  fair  and  placid  face, 
deeply  touched  -with  sadness,  hardly  needed  the  green 
ribbon  which  bound  her  eyes  to  tell  she  was  blind ;  for 
beneath  the  forced  repose  of  her  manner  were  seen  that 
quick  starting  at  any  sound,  and  that  expression  of  the 
intense  vigilance  of  every  other  sense,  which  distinguish 
persons  bereft  of  sight.  At  her  feet  sat  a  beautiful  young 
girl,  with  one  hand  clasped  in  her  mother's,  while  the 
other  held  a  book,  over  which  her  face  was  bent  wdth  an 
air  of  deep  interest,  as  she  read  aloud. 

There  was  something  so  attractive  in  this  tableau,  con- 
trasting as  it  did  mth  the  vivacity  of  the  butterfly  groups 
in  the  background,  that  Hubert  lingered  a  moment  to 
watch  them.     The  girl  was  reading  that  exquisite  story 


P  AEI  s  .  513 

of  Picciola,  and  as  lie  passed,  her  clear  voice  reached  his 
ear,  with  these  words,  — 

"  Science,  esprit,  beaute,  jeunesse,  fortune,  tout  ici  has, 
est  impiiissant  a  donner  le  ionheur." 

"  Teresa  ajouta,  '  Sans  T amour  !  '  " 

"It  is  true,"  he  murmured,  audibly,  as  he  walked  on. 
"  Have  I  not  proved  its  truth  ?  Six  weary  months  I  have 
struggled  vainly  to  find  contentment  in  whatever  the 
world  had  of  pleasure,  %vithout  Helen.  I  have  denied  my 
better  nature,  of  which  she  was  the  good  angel,  and  tried 
to  believe  I  could  at  last  forget  her.  It  is  in  vain ;  and 
now  a  child's  lips  echo  the  whisper  of  my  own  heart,  and 
warn  me  that  without  her  there  is  no  hope  of  happiness, 
I  Avill  go  to  her,  and  if  she  can  forgive  —  the  world  is 
wide  enough,  and  we  can  find  a  home." 

Wrapped  in  such  musings,  he  wandered  on,  and  found 
himself  at  length  before  the  Louvre.  He  entered,  and 
for  a  while  yielded  to  the  pleasure  of  recognizing  the  pic- 
tures which  had  excited  his  admiration  during  a  visit  some 
years  previous.  An  hour  or  two  had  elapsed,  and  as  he 
was  standing  before  one  of  Rubens' s  masterpieces,  he  was 
aroused  from  a  revery  by  a  conversation  between  two  gen- 
tlemen beside  him. 

"  Is  it  not  perfect,  as  I  told  you  ? "  said  one  enthusi- 
astically, continuing  a  remark  of  which  Hubert  had  lost 
th^first  sentence.  "  Notice  the  contour  of  her  head  and 
shoulders,  and  the  chiselling  of  her  features.  I  wish  her 
hat  was  removed,   that  you   might  see  her  hair  —  it  ia 


514 


magnificent.  She  is  too  thin,  as  all  American  women 
are,  but  otherwise  she  is  faultless." 

"You  are  right,"  said  his  companion;  "and  yet  the 
charm  of  that  beauty  is  not  in  feature  or  form,  so  much 
as  in  expression.  I  should  like  to  know  that  woman ; 
she  must  be  one  of  the  noblest  of  womankind,  one  of 
great  purity  and  strength  of  character,  capable  of  enjoy- 
ing and  sufiering  much.  And  if  I  mistake  not,  she  has 
sufiered.  There  is  more  than  ill  health  in  the  tender 
pensiveness  of  that  face." 

Hubert's  eyes  followed  the  direction  of  theirs ;  his 
heart  gave  one  mighty  throb,  and  then  stood  still,  and  for 
a  moment  all  grew  indistinct  about  him.  But  in  that 
throb  it  shook  off  forever  all  the  selfishness  and  worldly 
pride  which  had  trammelled  and  palsied  its  workings,  and 
rose  up  free  and  pure,  a  true  and  noble  heart,  stronger 
and  better  for  the  conflict  it  had  endured. 

Helen  Dupre  was  at  a  short  distance  from  him,  seated 
before  Murillo's  picture  of  The  Assumption.  Entranced 
in  thought,  her  attitude  reminded  him  of  the  morning  he 
had  found  her  thus  absorbed,  in  the  green  shadow  of  the 
forest ;  but  the  face  which  then  was  bent  downward  was 
now  raised  a  little,  as  her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  painting, 
and  in  the  light  which  fell  from  above,  over  cheek  and 
brow,  he  saw  that  though  the  freshness  and  bloom  of  that 
morning  had  departed,  she  had  gained  in  its  stead  an 
ethereal  loveliness,  delicate  and  holy,  and  the  expression 
which  her  features  wore  made  her  seem  the  liAdnsr  coun- 


A     RIVAL?  515 

terpart  of  the  picture  upon  which  she  gazed.  To  Helen 
it  spoke  volumes,  that  figure  of  the  Virgin,  rising  amid 
floating  clouds  of  glorj',  angel  faces  around  her,  angel 
hands  sustaining  and  beckoning  her  ujjward.  She  who 
had  been  the  Mater  Dolorosa,  bowed  with  anguish,  —  she 
to  Avhom  it  had  been  said  in  the  first  blessedness  of  ma- 
ternal love,  "A  sword  shall  pierce  thine  heart,"  —  where 
were  the  traces  of  her  sorrow  and  her  tears  ?  Her  strug- 
gles and  pangs  were  over  now ;  she  understood  the  pur- 
poses of  God  in  that  keen  heart  wound,  and  if  some  lines 
of  chastened  grief  still  lingered  round  her  mouth,  the 
glorious  upturned  eyes  overspread  them  with  the  iight  of 
perfect  knowledge  and  unending  joy. 

Deep  into  Helen's  heart  sank  this  foreshadowing  of 
spiritual  triumph,  of  the  blessedness  of  those  who  enter 
heaven  "  out  of  great  tribulation  ;  "  and  she  was  unaware 
how  long  she  had  been  left  alone,  when  Colonel  Bell  re- 
turned to  her  side,  accompanied  by  a  gentleman  whom 
Hubert  instantly  remembered,  having  formed  a  very  pleas- 
ant acquaintance  with  him  during  the  few  weeks  he  had 
spent  in  Rome.  He  was  also  known  to  the  gentleman 
who  still  remained  near  Hubert,  and  who  now  said  to  his 
companion,  — 

"  Ha !  there  is  Clarendon  !  I  thought  he  could  not  be 
far  away.     Colonel  Bell  evidently  favors  his  suit." 

".And  he  is  enamoured  as  evidently,"  replied  the  other. 

"Head  over  heels  —  heels  overhead.     He's  done  for 


516 


this  world,  if  he  don't  succeed  there,"  said  his  friend, 
laughing. 

"  He  hasn't  made  a  very  great  impression  yet,  however. 
I  see  it  in  her  expression.  What  a  face  she  has  !  Can 
you  introduce  me  ?  " 

"  I  should  hardly  like  to  take  the  liberty,  upon  the  very 
slight  acquaintance  I  have  as  yet  established  with  their 
party.  I  have  only  admired  at  a  distance  ;  but  I  mean  to 
know  her  better,  and  then " 

"  Since  I  am  a  married  man,  jon  will  not  be  afraid. 
Well,  1  will  be,  patient ;  "  and  the  two  moved  away. 

Hu]jprt  knit  his  brows  as  he  met  the  frank,  prepossess- 
ing appearance  of  the  younger  stranger,  and  glared  with 
furious  eyes  upon  his  quondam  English  friend,  who  was 
moving  along  the  gallery  by  Helen's  side,  talking  to  her 
with  a  manner  which  would  have  convinced  a  less  acute 
observer  of  his  ultimate  intentions.  To  lose  her  was  bad 
enough  ;  but  to  see  her  wooed,  and  perhaps  won  —  to  be 
so  near,  and  know  she  was  utterly  unconscious  and  unex- 
pecting — ^it  was  enough  to  justify  any  act  of  madness  ; 
and  for  an  instant  he  was  tempted  to  thrust  aside  the 
crowd,  and  upbraid  her  openly  that  she  could  smile  so 
calmly,  and  listen  with  so  much  interest,  or  that  she  dared 
receive  from  any  other  man  the  homage  it  was  once  his 
right  alone  to  bestow.  Clarendon  was  one  whom  any 
woman  might  be  proud  to  love,  and  Hubert  had  heard 
woman's  heart  is  often  caught  in  its  rebound  from  an  un- 
happy attachment. 


METATI,  AST.  51  7 

Yet  he  could  not  speak  to  her  there  for  the  first  time. 
The  words  with  which  he  should  meet  her  no  ear  but 
hers  must  hear ;  and  he  followed  at  a  distance,  himself 
unseen,  until  they  descended  to  their  carriage.  Then 
entering  another,  he  promised  the  driver  a  large  reward  to 
track  its  predecessor  to  a  dwelling-place  ;  and  after  a  long 
drive,  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  Helen  and  the 
colonel  enter  the  court  of  a  spacious  and  elegant  hotel. 
A  few  words  to  the  coachman  induced  him  to  enter  the 
porterie,  and  acquire  a  little  further  information. 

"  Do  monsieur  and  mademoiselle  reside  here  ?  " 

"  They  do." 

"  How  long  will  they  remain  ?  " 

The  porter  could  not  tell. 

"  Are  they  at  home  in  the  evenings  ?  " 

"  Monsieur  sometimes  goes  out,  but  mademoiselle 
never." 

This  was  sufficient,  and  driving  back  to  his  hotel,  Hu- 
bert made  himself  ready  for  an  evening  visit. 

When,  a  few  hours  later,  Hubert  entered  their  hotel, 
he  inquired  first  for  Colonel  Bell.  But  he  was  absent ; 
and  not  wishing  to  shock  Helen  by  appearing  too  sud- 
denly before  her,  he  sent  up  his  card,  but  followed  close 
behind  the  servant,  and  waited  while  he  went  in. 
Through  the  half-open  door  he  saw  her  rise  sudden- 
ly as  she  read  the  name,  exclaiming,  in  an  agitated  man- 
ner,— 

44 


619  CASTE. 

"  Where  is  lie  ?  Where  did  you  find  this  ?  Who 
brought  it? " 

"  Monsieur  waits,"  said  the  servant ;  but  before  he  had 
time  to  utter  more,  Hubert  was  at  his  side,  and  he  with- 
drew silently. 

Helen  stood  with  her  hand  pressed  against  her  heart. 
She  desired  to  receive  him  calmly  and  proudly,  to  be  self- 
collected  and  assured ;  but  the  effort  was  vain.  Her 
hand  dropjjed  powerlessly,  and  pallid  and  speechless,  she 
sank  down  upon  the  sofa.  Scarcely  less  faint  and  trem- 
bling, Hubert  knelt  at  her  feet,  and  pressed  that  cold 
hand  to  his  lips. 

4'  See  me  in  my  old  place,"  he  said  ;  "  hear  me  ask  you 
again  the  boon  I  entreated  then  —  the  boon  I  have  longed 
for  since.     Tell  me,  have  you  forgiven  me?" 

For  a  little  while  she  did  not  reply ;  and  her  eyes, 
fixed  on  him,  expressed  only  such  stony  surprise  and  dis- 
tress, that  he  was  alarmed ;  but  slowly  these  yielded  to 
the  sway  of  gentler  emotions,  and  tears,  gathering  un- 
heeded, rolled  over  her  cheeks,  as  he  added,  earnestly,  — 

"  Speak  to  me,  Helen  !  Will  you  not  even  speak  to 
me  ?     Do  you,  then,  utterly  hate  me  ?  " 

"  O,  why  are  you  here?  "  she  murmured,  incoherently, 
withdrawing  her  hands  from  his,  and  clasping  them  to- 
gether ;  "  why  did  you  come  ?  I  thought  the  worst  was 
over ;  I  thought  I  had  sufiered  all ;  I  was  beginning  to 
be  less  miserable ;  and  now  it  is  all  to  be  endured  again 
—  the  struggle,  the  torture,  the  terrible  pain  of  parting." 


A     NEW     APPEAL.  519 

"  Then  you  have  suffered  !  O  Helen,  I  feared  you  had 
learned  to  live  without  me !  You  love  me  still,  or  you 
would  not  be  thus  strongly  moved.  We  will  never  part 
again ;  the  whole  world  is  to  me  as  nothing  without  you. 
Look  at  me,  dearest ;  speak  to  me ;  remember  all  the 
weary  months  I  have  pined  to  hear  your  voice." 

He  spoke  rapidly,  passionately,  scarcely  knowing  what 
he  said ;  but  his  tone,  his  gesture,  his  beseeching  eyes, 
aroused  in  her  soul  a  fearful  excitement,  before  which  all 
the  barriers  of  her  strong  determination  were  swept  away. 
Her  veins  throbbed  wildly,  and  her  frame  shivered  with  a 
feverish  chill.  The  past  and  the  future  were  alike  forgot- 
ten in  the  exquisite  joy  which  succeeded  the  first  shock 
of  that  unexpected  meeting. 

"  O  Hubert,  Hubert !  "  she  said,  slowly,  holding  out 
both  hands  to  him.  The  words  fell  from  her  lips  uncon- 
sciously, while  her  face  beamed  with  an  entranced  and 
ardent  love. 

But  when,  seating  himself  beside  her,  he  seized  those 
hands,  and  would  have  pressed  her  to  his  heart,  she  re- 
pelled him,  struggling  feebly  for  a  momentary  firmness ; 
and  as  she  turned  away  her  head,  she  said,  in  broken 
murmurs,  "  0,  no,  this  must  not  be.  Go  ;  leave  me  ;  it 
is  all  in  vain ;  other  ties,  other  duties " 

"What  can  you  mean?"  he  exclaimed,  vehemently. 
"  What  duty  can  separate  us  ?  Helen,  tell  me,"  —  and 
his  voice  grew  colder,  — - "  have  you  formed  other  ties  ? 
Have  I  endured  so  many  pangs,  so   many  conflicts,  only 


520  CASTE. 

to  be  trifled  -svith  and  scorned  at  last  ?  Have  you  dared 
to  make  new  vows  ?  O,  what  do  I  say  ?  Do  you,  can 
you  love  another?  " 

"  O,  never  !  never!"  she  cried;  and  in  sudden  aban- 
donment she  threw  herself  upon  his  breast.  Close  in  his 
arms  he  clasped  her,  and  with  caressing  and  gentle  words 
he  soothed  the  tumult  of  her  heart  and  brain. 

"  How  you  frightened  me,  Helen,  dear,  when  you  spoke 
of  other  ties,  other  duties  !  "  he  said,  at  length.  "  For 
a  moment  I  thought  that  in  rashness  or  despair  you  had 
made  some  engagement  which  would  separate  us.  Now 
we  will  never  again  be  parted." 

She  was  calm  then,  and  made  no  effort  to  rise  from  her 
resting-place,  but  her  voice  was  very  firm  in  its  low,  pa- 
thetic tones,  as  she  ansAvered,  — 

"  Do  you  then  dream  such  happiness  can  be  ours  ?  It 
is  enough  to  have  seen  you  once  more,  to  know  that  my 
confidence  in  you  was  not  misplaced,  to  hear  again  words 
warm  and  earnest,  like  your  first  words  of  love,  and  to 
be  able  henceforth  to  forget  that  fearfid  time,  when  even 
you  seemed  to  forsake  me.  O  Hubert,  to  forget  it  as  if 
it  had  never  been,  and  through  my  lonely  days  to  wear 
your  image  shrined  within  my  heart,  —  I  thank  God  for 
this  ;  now  it  will  not  be  so  hard  to  part " 

"  Why  do  you  speak  only  of  parting  r  —  of  separa- 
tion ? "  said  her  lover.  "  Your  calmness  and  sadness 
terrify  me.  Helen,  I  tell  you  you  are  mine,  and  no  power 
on  earth  shall  tear  you  from  my  arms." 


ICE     MELTING.  621 

"  It  is  vain,"  she  replied,  with  a  melancholy  smile. 
"  You  are  noble  and  generous  ;  but  we  must  part.  And 
now,  Hubert,  it  will  be  easier  to  bid  you  go,  to  tell  you 
we  must  not  meet  again,  noAV  that  I  have  this  blessed 
hour  to  look  back  upon,  and  to  live  over,  ipd  to  bring 
before  my  mental  vision,  as  men  who  are  starving  are  said 
to  picture  to  themselves  the  most  delicious  fruits  and  vi- 
ands. And  I  have  other  svipport,  too,  which  I  had  not 
when  I  last  saw  you.  Hubert,  all  the  trials  of  this  life 
appear  to  me  far  easier  to  be  borne,  since  I  have  trusted 
in  God  and  hoped  in  heaven.  To  the  life  which  is  to 
come  I  look  forward  with  ardent  longings  ;  and  I  tell  you 
this,  that  you  may  know,  when  you  leave  me,  I  am  not 
left  alone." 

"  Dearest,"  he  murmured,  with  a  choking  of  the  voice, 
and  his  eyes  were  suffused  with  tears  as  he  pressed  her 
yet  closer  to  his  heart.  Then,  moved  by  a  sudden 
thought,  he  asked, — 

"  Was  it  not  of  this  you  were  thinking  this  afternoon, 
when  you  sat  before  the  picture  of  The  Assumption? 
I  could  hardly  understand  your  expression  then,  but  now 
I  know  what  it  meant." 

"  Did  you  see  me  ?  "  she  exclaimed,  in  surprise. 

"  I  did ;  I  was  with  you  all  the  afternoon  ;  I  followed 
you  home,"  Hubert  answered. 

"  O,  spy  !  and  I  knew  nothing  of  it !  "  she  said  ;  and 
her  face  lighted  with  one  of  the  bright,  flashing  smiles 
44* 


522  CASTE. 

which  had  made  his  pulses  leap  a  thousand  times 
before. 

He  was  charmed  to  have  surprised  her  into  forgetfulness 
of  her  settled  grief,  and  continued,  with  his  eyes  fixed 
tenderly  upo^j,  her,  — 

"  No,  you  did  not  know  it.  No  intuition  told  you  I 
was  near,  and  my  heart  bursting  with  jealousy.  O, 
naughty  Miss  Helen !  I  Avas  not  so  unconscious  when 
you  were  near." 

"  Jealousy !  Pray  tell  me  what  could  stir  that  pas- 
sion." 

"I  was  jealous  of  Clarendon.  He  loves  you,  Helen; 
but  he  must  hope  no  longer,  for  you  are  mine  now  —  my 
wife." 

He  spoke  in  an  assured,  joyous  manner ;  but  the  shad- 
ow fell  again  over  Helen's  face,  and  she  shook  her  head, 
sadly. 

"  Do  not  say  that  word  again ;  it  cannot  be.  We  must 
part,  and  it  is  time  these  sad,  sweet  moments  were  ended. 
You  know  I  cannot  be  your  wife." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Why  do  you  ask  ?  "  she  replied,  Avith  an  expression 
of  deep  pain.  "The  same  objections  which  existed  once 
exist  now.  We  could  not  live  in  peace  in  our  native 
land." 

"  Let  us  live  elsewhere,  then.  I  tell  you,  Helen,  your 
gentler  nature  shall  not  be  or  ^ixed  beaeatii  this  iicm  load 


SHAXL     LEATE     FATHER    AND     MOTHER.     523 

of  duty.  And  for  myself,  you  know  I  am  not  a  man  to 
protest  and  swear,  but  I  say  simply,  I  cannot  and  I  will 
not  live  without  you.  The  ideas  that  might  call  for  such 
a  sacrifice  do  not  obtain  in  these  countries  —  do  not  pur- 
sue one  to  the  outer  edge  of  those  distinctions  which  sep- 
arate races.  Even  if  your  origin  were  known,  no  one 
here  would  scoflF  at  you,  and  men  would  only  envy  me  for 
the  good  fortune  of  possessing  you.  Helen,  my  darling, 
we  can  be  happy  here.  You  ^\ill  find  quite  a  different 
tone  of  public  feeling  from  that  you  left  across  the  At- 
lantic." 

"  But  your  home,  your  parents,  your  family,"  persisted 
Helen. 

'•  They  are  mine  no  longer,  since  I  cannot  have  both 
them  and  you.  They  have  their  prejudices  —  prejudices 
■which  I  have  shared,  and  therefore  cannot  blame  them  for 
holding  so  exclusively,  and  which  I  candidly  admit  I  con- 
sider generally  well  founded-,  and  entitled  to  respect. 
But  you,  my  peerless,  my  beautiful,  you  arc  an  exception 
to  all  rules  ;  you  make  it  right  for  a  man  to  forsake  all 
former  opinions,  and  literally  to  obey  the  Scripture  in- 
junction, to  leave  father  and  mother,  and  cling  to  the 
wife.  Before  I  found  you  in  the  Lou\Te  this  afternoon,  I 
intended  to  return  home  immediately,  and  find  you,  and 
tell  you  what  I  have  told  you  now.  I  have  lived  six 
months  without  you,  I  have  tried  what  time  could  do,  I 
have  heaxd  all  argumcnte,  and  to  this  resolve  I  had  come 


524  CASTE. 

deliberately.  You  love  me  ;  I  hoped,  I  believed  it  still, 
in  spite  of  your  coldness  in  leaving  me  so  ill,  and  in  re- 
fusing to  answer  my  letter." 

"  Your  letter !  I  received  none !  Have  you  been 
ill?" 

"  Did  you  not  know  it  ?  O  Helen,  I  am  glad  !  That 
was  all  I  blamed  you  for  !  "  he  cried,  with  eager  joy.  "  I 
was  very  ill  at  the  time  you  left  Mrs.  Avenel's,  and  for  a 
long  time  after.  I  could  not  wonder  you  accompanied 
your  brother,  but  I  was  surprised  you  should  never  send 
to  inquire  for  me,  or  reply  to  my  letter.  They  told  me 
there  was  no  message  from  you." 

"  There  was  none,"  said  Helen,  sadly,  "  for  I  received 
no  letter,  and  was  not  informed  of  your  illness.  They 
were  determined  to  separate  us,  and  knowing  this,  can 
I,  ought  I,  to  accept  yovu-  love  —  to  allow  this  sacri- 
fice ?  " 

"  There  is  but  one  thing  which  can  be  a  sacrifice  to  me, 
and  that  is,  to  give  you  up.  O,  my  best  beloved,  you  are 
more  to  me  than  kindred  or  home,  more  than  life  itself. 
There  is  no  joy  but  to  be  with  you,  no  sorrow  which  you 
cannot  lighten."  And  as  he  spoke,  he  caught  her  again 
to  his  heart.  She  yielded.  Her  womanly  nature  could 
not  but  yield  to  the  force  of  that  earnest,  manly  love ; 
but  when  gazing  earnestly  into  the  fond  eyes  bent  upon 
her,  she  miirmured,  hesitatingly,  — 

"  Can  this  be  right  ?  O  Hubert,  if  you  should  live  to 
regret  it !  " 


SHALL     CLEAVE     10     HIS 

He  quelled  tlie  lingering  doubt  and  fear,  by  ans^  ^, 
playfully,  yet  earnestly,  — 

"If  it  never  was  right  before,  and  never  will  be  again, 
we  will  make  it  right  for  this  once.  I  will  be  to  you  the 
beau  ideal  of  a  husband,  and  you  shall  be  to  me  such  a 
■s\ife,  that  no  mortal,  in  witnessing  our  perfect  happiness, 
shall  dream  of  Avhispering,  in  his  most  secret  thoughts, 
that  word  regret." 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-SEVENTH. 


"  0  thoughtless  lassie,  life's  a  faught; 

Tho  canniest  gate,  the  strife  is  sair; 
But  aye  fu'  hau't  is  fechtin  best, 

An'  hungry  care's  an  unco  care ; 
But  some  will  spend,  and  some  will  spare, 

An'  wilfu'  folk  maun  hae  their  will ; 
Syne  as  ye  brew,  my  maiden  fair, 

Keep  mind  that  ye  maun  drink  the  yill." 


In  the  southland  the  summers  come  and  go,  the 
flowers  bloom  and  fade ;  and  during  the  sleep  of  na- 
ture, the  brown  leaves  fall  before  the  rushing  rain ;  and 
slowly,  steadily,  surely,  the  unchanging  pulse  of  Time 
throbs  onward  to  its  death  hour.  But  in  that  land  of 
sunshine  lives  one  to  whom,  through  day  and  night,  the 
hours  seem  to  falter  and  stand  still. 

She  lives  in  a  stately  mansion,  situated  on  the  slope  of 
a  green  valley,  surrounded  with  fruits  and  flowers,  and  ex- 
tensive pleasure  grounds,  and  paths  that  lead  through  shady 
places  to  pleasant  bowers  ;  and  all  which  can  delight  the 
eye  or  charm  the  sense  seems  gathered  there.  But  the 
house  is  of  stone,  and  the  windows  have  heavy  gratings  ; 
and  though  the  doors  stand  ever  open,  and  no  word  of 
restraint  is  breathed  to  any  of  its  inmates,  the  moment 
any  one  steps  outside  its  walls  another  person  joins  her, 

(526) 


CXAKABELl,.  527 

walks  beside  her,  follows  her  untiringly,  with  a  quick  eye  to 
mark  each  motion,  and  a  strong  arm  to  prevent  escape  from 
this  espionage ;  and  should  these  pleasant  paths  be  followed 
to  their  bound,  one  would  find  a  wide  level  space  between 
the  trees  and  a  high  brick  wall,  which  encloses  all  the  do- 
main. Inside  the  house  are  books  in  profusion,  musical 
instruments,  rich  furniture  and  paintings,  all  that  culti- 
vated and  refined  life  demands ;  and  the  groups  who  move 
through  the  halls  or  loiter  in  the  rooms,  singing,  chatting, 
or  engaged  in  some  light,  feminine  employment,  might  ap- 
pear at  first  glance  to  be  happy  in  their  retreat  from  the 
world.  One  almost  wonders  what  should  cause  the  alert, 
watchful  expression  in  the  eyes  of  those  of  them  who 
seem  to  play  the  part  of  host  and  hostess,  and  the  half- 
concealed  unhappiness  and  secret  fear  which  a  little  atten- 
tion can  discover  in  the  faces  of  their  guests.  But  listen, 
and  you  will  find  that  mirth  fitful  and  unintelligent,  that 
conversation  babbling  wildly  through  the  most  contra- 
dictory and  absurd  ideas,  and  the  gloom  and  tears  which 
often  follow  equally  causeless  and  unnatural,  and  in 
some  countenances  the  fierce  look  of  determination  which 
indicates  a  dangerous  insanity.  These  are  they  to  whom 
the  most  constant  vigilance  is  directed,  and  who  often  dis- 
appear from  their  companions  behind  a  strong  iron  door, 
that  shuts  ofi"  a  distant  part  of  the  house  ;  from  whence 
sometimes  ^vild  shrieks  or  muffled  cries  are  heard,  or  yells 
and  curses  that  chill  the  listener's  blood  with  horror. 
But  she  who  curses  oftenest  curses  silently.     She  marks 


528  C  A  S  T  K  . 

the  sun  rise  and  set  behind  the  circling  forest,  from  whoso 
dark  bound  her  weary  eyes  turn,  loathing  the  light,  which 
reveals  the  barrier  that  shuts  her  up  in  more  complete 
solitude  and  isolation  from  the  inhabited  world. 

Yet  when  the  night  comes  darkling  over  the  gardens  and 
the  lonely  house,  and  one  by  one  the  lights  go  out  in  the 
various  windows,  a  deeper  gloom,  a  more  intense  desola- 
tion, broods  over  her  spirit,  and  she  waters  her  prayerless 
couch  with  tears  of  despairing  rage.  She  mingles  little 
in  the  society  which  the  family  affords,  and  takes  no  inter- 
est in  the  fancied  joys  or  woes  that  overcloud  the  diseased 
minds  of  her  fellow-sufferers.  She  smiles  in  bitter  scorn 
at  their  puerile  cares  and  fears,  and  thrills  with  shuddering 
dread  at  the  gibbering  cries  which  sometimes  reach  her 
ears  ;  for  there  is  a  dark  foreboding  in  her  soul  that  she 
may  one  day  pass  behind  the  bolted  door  into  the  corridor 
of  the  iron- furnished  cells. 

Yet  haughty  and  unyielding  as  ever,  she  will  do  noth- 
ing to  avert  such  a  fate.  She  talks  but  little  to  the  kind- 
hearted  matron,  who  pities  and  would  amuse  her  ;  and  she 
will  not  go  often  into  the  garden  or  the  parlors,  for  only 
in  her  own  room  can  she  hope  to  be  alone.  She  is  quiet 
now,  and  yields  a  sullen  obedience  to  the  rules  of  the 
house,  so  far  as  they  are  enforced  in  her  case,  and  troubles 
no  one  with  outcries  or  complaints ;  yet  there  was  a  time, 
when  she  first  entered  this  mansion,  she  spared  them  no 
means  of  annoyance,  and  used  every  argument,  every 
entreaty,  every  wild  and   desperate  endeavor  to  escape. 


GILDED     FKTTERS.  529 

But  when,  at  length,  she  came  to  personal  violence,  and 
really,  for  a  time,  insane  with  fear  and  anger,  attempted 
the  life  of  her  attendant,  she  was  brought  under  the 
strict  regimen  of  the  hospital :  her  beautiful  hair  was 
shaved,  her  limbs  confined  in  a  strait  jacket  of  strong 
silk,  her  food  was  j^rison  diet,  —  none  the  more  pal- 
atable that  it  was  served  on  silver  and  china  from  her 
own  dwelling,  —  and  for  weeks  she  wore  around  her 
delicate  wrists  bracelets  which  denied  her  the  use  of  her 
hands.  They  had  been  provided  by  Colonel  Bell,  when 
he  was  told  of  her  unhappy  state,  and  as  if  in  mockery 
of  her  love  of  ornament,  they  were  of  gilded  iron. 

Her  chamber  is  furnished  magnificently,  and  her  ward- 
robe complete  as  if  she  were  daily  receiving  crowds  of 
visitors.  Xew  music  and  new  novels,  as  they  appear  in 
the  market,  are  sent  to  her ;  even  new  dresses,  and  laces, 
and  sets  of  jewelry  arrive  from  time  to  time  by  her  hus- 
band's order.  He  says  it  is  from  a^desii'e  to  afford  her 
every  indulgence  consistent  with  safe  keeping ;  but  if  he 
meant  it  for  a  bitter  sarcasm,  he  could  not  devise  one  that 
would  be  more  deeply  felt.  Sometimes,  when  these  gifts 
are  opened,  she  spits  upon  them  and  tears  them ;  some- 
times she  sends  them  back,  or  bids  them  be  packed  again 
and  put  away  until  she  leaves  her  prison.  But  she  is 
growing  less  and  less  hopeful  that  that  time  will  cNcr 
come,  and  she  is  losing  her  interest  in  dressing  herself 
finely,  and  trying  to  preserve  her  beauty.  Her  haii-  has 
45 


530  CASTE. 

grown  out  thin  and  coarse,  and  wrinkles  are  becoming 
indelible  on  her  brow  and  cheek.  Poor  Clara  Bell ! 
From  the  Bible  her  mother  sent  her  she  turns  away  in 
proud  and  unbelieving  rebellion  ;  and  what  other  hope 
or  comfort  is  left  for  her  in  life  ! 


In  their  pleasant  home,  Edgar  Avenel  and  his  noble 
wife  enjoy  all  of  happiness  Avhich  this  world  can  bestow. 
If  there  are  anxieties  and  griefs  in  that  home,  if  there  are 
heart  achings  and  tears,  they  are  only  such  as  are  insep- 
arable from  humanity  —  soft  summer  showers,  which, 
though  they  cloud  the  sky  a  little  while,  are  necessary  to 
moisten  the  soil  which  too  much  sunshine  might  render 
hard  and  sterile.  Honored  and  beloved  by  all,  their  lives 
flew  on  serenely,  in  unostentatious  goodness  and  charity 
towards  all  mankind. 

Thank  God,  there  are  many  such  families  scattered  up 
and  down  among  the  hills  and  valleys  of  our  native  land, 
the  sum  of  whose  daily  existence,  unknown  and  unre- 
corded of  Fame,  it  takes  not  many  words  to  tell ;  yet 
from  them  shall  go  forth  sons  and  daughters,  whose 
influence  in  the  "  good  time  conung,"  shall  be  powerful 
to  shield  our  country  from  the  ruin  with  which  it  is  men- 
aced by  the  deeds  of  evil  men. 

Sometimes  there  is  seen  by  this  fireside  a  quiet  gentle- 
man, the  expression  of  whose  features,  slightly  touched 
with  melancholy,  and  his  raven  locks  sprinkled  over  with 


THE     HOME     Sr  I  S  S  I  0  X  A  R  Y  .  531 

gray  hairs,  tell  more  of  sorrow  than  of  years.  Yet  it  is  a 
gentle  and  holy  sorrow,  not  obtrusive  and  complaining, 
but  worn  rather  as  a  shield  against  the  evil  and  folly  of 
the  world  —  a  sacred  amulet,  the  gift  of  one  who  has 
passed  beyond  the  skies. 

To  the  oppressed  cliildrcn  of  his  mother's  race  Charles 
Dupre  is  at  once  an  example  and  a  missionary.  To  some 
his  life  work  seems  humble  ;  but  he  has  studied  the  sub- 
ject in  its  true  bearings,  having  in  viev,'  not  what  these 
degraded  people  are,  but  what  they  are  capable  of  be- 
coming ;  and  in  devoting  himself  to  the  labor  of  raising 
them,  through  religion  and  education,  he  cares  not  for 
the  scorn  of  those  who  have  neither  the  capacity  to  un- 
derstand, nor  the  feeling  to  appreciate  his  motives.  He 
has  had  many  trials  even  from  those  for  Avhom  he  labors 
—  there  have  been  moments  when  his  heart  has  fainted 
within  him  ;  but  he  has  found  also  good  and  true  helpers, 
noble  men  who  have  bid  him  God  speed,  and  given  him 
substantial  aid  for  his  schools  and  his  churches  ;  and  in 
watching  the  slow  development  of  the  ideas  he  is  implant- 
ing, he  experiences  a  quiet  joy,  and  for  his  I'cward  he 
looks  to  the  great  future  of  eternity.  Of  Julie  and  of 
her  early  death  he  never  speaks,  but  his  silence  is  not 
sullen  or  misanthropic.  In  the  secret  chamber  of  his 
soul  there  is  a  veiled  image,  clothed  in  saintly  white,  be- 
fore which  the  flame  of  an  undying  love  burns  blight  and 
clear ;  and  to  none  but  the  compassionate  eye  of  God  can 
bis  hand   ever  open  the   portals  of  that   sacred   shrine. 


532 


There  is  another  home,  in  which  Charles  Dupre  is  ever  a 
welcome  guest.  Directly  opposite  Edgar  Avenel's  man- 
sion, so  near  that  the  glad  young  voices  can  in  summer 
be  plainly  heard  there,  and  in  winter  the  cheery  firelight 
almost  casts  its  glow  upon  the  window,  stands  a  small 
but  elegant  cottage,  within  whose  quiet  bounds  his  step- 
mother has  established  herself,  to  spend  the  remainder  of 
her  days.  With  her  pliant  and  trustful  disposition,  it  was 
easy  to  convince  her  that  her  daughter  was  really  in  the 
unfortunate  condition  which  Colonel  Bell  had  alleged,  as 
a  reason  for  her  sudden  disappearance  ;  and  when  she  had 
gone  with  him  to  the  retreat  he  had  provided,  and  heard 
the  physician's  opinion  of  her  case,  she  made  no  further 
opposition  to  their  refusal  to  allow  her  an  interview  with 
Clara. 

Indeed,  after  her  first  dismay  and  distress  had  subsided, 
it  was  almost  a  relief  to  think  that  the  strange  and  malicious 
traits  which  she  had  noticed  in  Clara's  character  were  the 
result  of  a  diseased  brain,  rather  than  the  outworking 
of  a  depraved  heart.  The  coldness  and  unkindness  of 
word  and  deed,  over  which  she  had  privately  mourned 
when  manifested  towards  herself  and  those  in  whom  she 
was  interested  ;  the  bursts  of  anger  and  cruelty  towards 
her  helpless  servants,  which  were  beginning  to  be  known 
and  commented  upon  in  the  neighborhood,  and  through 
her  own  domestics  had  reached  her  ears  ;  the  vanity  and 
selfishness  which  every  year  seemed  to  strengthen ;  the 
scornful  repugnance  to  religious  truth  —  all  the  poisonous 


CLARA  BELL  LEFT  ALONE.        533 

and  hateful  weeds  which,  overgrowing  the  soil  of  Clara's 
heart,  had  choked  the  seeds  a  mother's  hand  once  im- 
planted there,  she  could  now  think  of  with  sorrowful  and 
pitying  excuses,  for  the  mental  malady  had  warped  a 
nature  that  might  otherwise  have  been  pure  and  lovely. 

For  some  months  she  remained  in  her  old  home,  going 
occasionally,  and  sending  often,  to  inquire  for  her  daugh- 
ter's health  ;  but  the  report  continued  unfavorable,  -and 
she  was  never  allowed  to  see  her ;  and  at  length  beginning 
to  believe  her  case  was  as  they  reported,  incvirable,  she, 
with  the  submission  which  had  become  a  habit,  resigned 
herself  to  the  direction  of  others. 

Mr.  Avenel  had  for  many  years  been  urging  her  to 
give  lip  the  establishment  at  the  Pines,  and  locate  herself 
near  them,  if  she  did  not  choose  to  accept  a  home  in  his 
family.  She  Avished  to  retain  the  servants  who  had  spent 
their  lives  with  her,  and  with  these  she  removed  to  the 
cottage  which  was  built  by  her  desire.  Her  husband's  will 
had  been  such  that  all  the  other  hximan  beings  belonging 
to  the  estate  passed  mto  Clara's  possession  at  his  death  ; 
and  Colonel  Bell  with  alacrity  aided  the  widow  to  settle 
her  affairs  in  the  south,  and  prepare  for  a  residence  near 
her  other  cliildren.  lie  had  been  uniformly  polite  to  her ; 
and  now  he  seemed  so  kind,  so  sympathetic,  and  anxious 
for  her  comfort,  that  she  reproached  herself  for  having 
allowed  Clara's  representations  to  prejudice  her  against 
hi:n.  His  conscience  reproved  him  somewhat  for  the 
45* 


534  CASTE. 

deception  he  was  practising  upon  her  simple-hearted  cre- 
dulitj- ;  but  he  excused  himself  by  thinking  that  \vith 
Edgar  and  his  family  she  would  be  far  happier  than  she 
could  be  if  left,  in  her  declining  years,  to  the  scanty 
kindness  which  was  the  utmost  Clara's  nature  could 
bestow. 

And  in  fact  this  is  the  case.  The  mother's  heart  can- 
not forget  her  child,  and  she  writes  constantly  to  Clara, 
and  thinks  of  her  daily,  with  pity  and  with  prayers.  But 
Edgar  had  been  to  her  from  childhood  scarcely  less  dear 
than  Clara,  and  always  had  repaid  her  love  with  more 
affectionate  regard  ;  and  now,  after  years  of  separation, 
her  tenderness,  so  long  repressed  and  chilled  by  those  who 
should  most  have  cherished  it,  —  her  husband  and  her 
child,  —  flows  forth  to  find  itself  welcomed  and  blessed 
by  hearts  as  warm  as  her  own.  The  children,  who  arc  a;> 
much  at  home  with  her  as  in  their  father's  house,  call  to 
her  face  such  smiles  as  have  not  lingered  there  since  the 
happy  days  of  her  girlhood ;  and  amid  such  tender  and 
watchful  affection  she  is  repaid  for  many  an  hour  of  anxi- 
ety and  trial. 

Ned  Conant  is  growing  up,  mirthful  and  fun-loving  as 
when  a  boy ;  but  his  free  and  manly  nature  scorns  the 
trammels  which  will  make  his  father  all  his  days  a  slave 
to  worldliness.  If  he  is  too  independent  and  somewhat 
reckless  in  his  exuberant  youth,  it  is  a  comfort  to  know 
that 

"  E'ea  his  failings  lean  to  virtue's  side." 


AN     ITALIAN     HOME.  535 

and  are  but  the  rebound  from  the  maxims  of  timidity  and 
time-serving  which  his  childhood  heard. 

Mrs.  Conant  never  recovered  from  the  shock  of  Julie's 
death.  Her  husband  has  grown  bitter  and  more  desper- 
ately prejudiced  against  men  of  color,  and  will  not  allow 
Charles  Dupre's  name  mentioned  in  his  presence ;  but 
she  contrives  to  hear  of  him  through  Ned's  constant  friend- 
ship, and  sometimes  sends  him,  secretly,  little  tokens  of 
her  interest  in  his  welfare.  But  she  has  not  courage  to 
espouse  the  cause  in  which  he  is  engaged,  or  even  to 
speak  of  him ;  and  she  wears  always  a  sad  and  troubled 
expression ;  and  not  even  Nellie's  gay  young  life  can  cast 
any  joy  over  hers,  as  she  sits  in  the  shadow  of  the  tomb 
where  her  favorite  child  lies  buried. 


By  the  shores  of  the  tideless  sea,  beneath  the  purple 
skies  of  Italy,  Hubert  Warner  has  made  his  home  with 
the  bride  he  Avon  so  dearly  ;  and  never  has  he  regret- 
ted that  for  her  sake  he  relinquished  his  father's  house  and 
his  native  land.  Years  have  proved  that  she  who  could 
inspire  this  devoted  affection  possessed  the  still  greater 
power  to  retain  it,  with  its  enthusiasm  undiminished,  its 
delicate  bloom  unfaded,  amid  the  cares  and  uses  of  com- 
mon life.  For  it  is  thus  that  love  is  tested.  In  this 
dgjly  friction  of  minute  events  the  true  diamond  is  but 
polished  to  a  clearer  lustre  ;  the  false  jewel  becomes 
defaced  and  dim,  and  at  length  is  worn  away. 


536 


Happy  in  each,  other  and  their  children,  they  seldom 
care  to  leave  their  grove-embowered  villa ;  but  old  friends 
now  and  then  find  them  out  in  their  seclusion,  and  a 
gradually-widening  circle  of  congenial  and  cultivated 
families  are  ever  ready  to  welcome  them  when  they  visit 
the  neighboring  city.  There  Colonel  Bell  has  fixed  his 
residence  ;  but  in  reality  he  spends  most  of  his  time  in  the 
villa  which  he  purchased  and  presented  to  Helen  on  her 
wedding  day,  and  where  he  delights  to  surround  her  with 
all  that  can  minister  to  her  comfort,  or  gratify  her  love 
of  the  beautiful.  He  finds  much,  also,  to  interest  him  in 
the  literary  labors  wherein  Hubert  employs  himself,  and 
there  is  a  prospect  that  their  diligent  researches  may 
result  in  some  valuable  contributions  to  antiquarian  lore. 

They  see  few  Americans,  and  seldom  refer  to  the  land 
they  have  left ;  partly  because  then  only  does  a  frown 
gather  on  Hubert's  brow,  and  a  deep  sadness,  not  umnixed 
with  stronger  and  harsher  feelings,  overspread  the  features 
of  Colonel  Bell,  and  partly  because,  like  all  persons  really 
contented  and  absorbed  with  their  siuToundings  and  occu- 
pations, they  live  in  the  present,  and  the  past  does  not 
often  intrude  itself  upon  their  thoughts.  Once  or  twice 
Charles  Dupre  has  rested  from  the  wearing  duties  of  his 
life,  in  beholding  his  sister's  happiness,  and  for  a  few 
years  they  have  had  occasional  visits  from  young  Henry 
Lane,  who,  being  unable  to  obtain  admittance  to  the  best 
colleges  of  his  native  coimtry,  was  obliged  to  come  to  the 
old  world  in  order  to  gain  the   advantages  of  education 


THE    OLD     PLANTATION.  537 

which  he  desired.  His  early  manhood  is  rich  ^ith  prom- 
ise, and  all  who  know  him  are  astonished  at  the  purity 
and  strength  of  character,  and  the  keen,  comprehensive 
intellect  which  every  year  develops  more  fully. 

It  has  been  his  intention  to  return  to  the  United  States 
when  his  studies  are  completed ;  but  rec<~*itlv  ^e  ^  "  ""^- 
ceived  letters  urging  him  to  go  to  Liberia,  where  scien- 
tific and  thoroughly-educated  physicians  arc  much  needed ; 
and  as  he  is  fitting  for  that  profession,  his  presence  there 
might  be  of  inestimable  value.  Probably  he  will  accede 
to  the  request,  and  locate  himself  there  for  a  few  years, 
even  if  he  should  not  decide  upon  a  permanent  residence. 


The  "Warners  still  live  in  comfort  on  the  "  old  planta- 
tion," managing  their  domestic  affairs  in  the  same  easy  and 
cheerful  manner  that  distinguished  them  of  old.  Hubert 
is  to  them  as  one  dead,  and  his  name  is  rarely  mentioned. 
But  time  has  somewhat  healed  their  first  deep  mortifi- 
cation at  his  marriage ;  and  since  his  absence  causes  him 
to  be  forgotten  by  their  acquaintance,  so  that  his  rela- 
tives are  not  annoyed  by  being  continually  reminded  of 
his  disgrace,  they  can  afibrd  to  mingle  a  little  pity  with 
the  acerbity  of  tone  wherewith  they  sometimes,  in  the 
home  circle,  refer  to  "  poor  Hubert,''  who  so  foolishly 
threw  himself  away.  The  early  ties  which  bound  him  to 
his  brothers  and  sisters  had  for  years  been  somewhat 
loosened,  as,  one  after  another,  they  married  and  removed 


538  CASTE. 

to  new  scenes  and  interests  ;  for,  absorbed  in  their  own 
families,  tbej^  had  little  time  to  think  of  him.  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Warner  have  other  children,  who  are  the  pride  and 
blessing  of  their  declining  years,  and  numerous  grand- 
children, to  whom  the  old  home  is  the  Mecca  of  an  an- 
rv\  p'1'Tvi~.-iage  ;  beside  Emma  and  Angle,  who,  beautiful 
and  affectionate,  richly  repay  the  care  lavished  upon  their 
infancy.  In  such  a  large  family  the  loss  of  one  is  but  little 
felt,  and  the  only  thing  which  might  remind  an  observer  of 
thes-e  leaves  they  would  so  willingly  tear  from  the  record 
of  their  lives,  is  the  constant  violence  with  which  Mr. 
Warner  inveighs  against  educating  persons  of  color,  and 
the  significant  shrug  and  the  impatient  exclamation  wliere- 
with  his  wife  receives  the  intelligence  that  any  of  her 
neighbors  employ  a  northern  lady  as  governess. 

Clara  Bell  is  represented  to  all  as  hopelessly  insane. 
Colonel  Bell,  having  determined  to  remain  abroad,  leased 
his  patrimonial  acres  to  his  sister's  children,  who  would 
inherit  them,  and  sold  all  his  other  property.  ]\Iarise, 
jMrs.  Bell's  maid,  thus  brought  under  the  hammer  of  the 
auctioneer,  was  bought  by  a  Florida  planter,  and  her  after 
fate  is  uncertain.  Jim,  in  consideration  of  his  faithful- 
ness and  afi'ection,  received  his  freedom  and  a  present  of 
money  sufficient  to  establish  him  in  trade,  and  he  is 
now  settled  in  Baltimore,  doing  a  flourishing  business  in 
candy,  gingerbread,  and  peanuts. 

Michel,  being  left  in  possession  of  his  own  freedom 
when  Hubert  Warner  gave  up  his   connection  with  his 


JE  S  0  P     IX     E  B  O  X  Y  .  539 

father's  mercantile  affairs  in  Cuba,  soon  succeeded  in 
amassing  a  sum  sufficient  to  purchase  Kissy,  and  together 
they  removed  to  Hayti,  where  they  now  live  in  opulence. 
The  dinunutive  'Gus,  having  turned  out  to  be  a  veritable 
dwarf,  coutiuues  an  inmate  of  his  master's  family ;  and 
having,  by  this  kindness  of  nature,  escaped  the  doom  of 
labor,  he  leads  a  merry  and  useless  existence,  unless, 
indeed,  he  may  be  thought  to  earn,  as  Mrs.  "Warner  says, 
"  the  salt  to  his  porridge  "  by  the  good  he  does  in  the 
hearty  laughter  his  pranks  often  occasion.  The  spice 
of  malice  in  his  disposition  strengthens  ^^•ith  increasing 
years  ;  but  he  acquires,  also,  sufficient  wisdom  to  reserve 
it  for  those  on  whom  it  can  be  safely  expended.  To  the 
white  members  of  the  household  he  appears  only  as  a 
nimble,  docile,  and  grotesque  pet,  and  if  others  dare 
complain  of  him  he  always  triumphs  in  the  contest,  and 
then  repays  the  daring  by  the  most  provoking  piece  of 
mischief  he  can  invent. 

"  Mother  Goose  "  still  supplies  him  with  an  unfailing 
fund  of  proverbs  and  stories,  which  he  brings  forward  and 
dispenses  as  lavishly  as  of  yore ;  delighting  the  "  little 
nigs,"  and  the  juveniles  of  a  higher  grade,  A\-ith  a  descrip- 
tion of  the  detection  and  summary  punishment  which  befell 
"Tom,  the  piper's  son,"  after  his  thicAing  attempt  upon 
his  neighbor's  pigsty ;  or  the  history  of  "  Jack  Horner's  " 
Christmas  dinner,  when,  like  many  another  selfish  mortal, 
he  uttered  a  vainglorious  boast,  as  if  he  had  accomplished 
something  praiseworthy  in  appropriating  to  himself  the 


540  CASTE. 

biggest  plum  in  the  family  pie  ;  or  the  wonderful  tale  of 
the  tlwee  philosophers  of  Gotham,  who,  venturing  to  sea 
in  a  vessel  of  novel  construction,  were  drowned  ;  proba- 
bly, if  one  may  judge  from  the  rashness  of  their  last  act, 
without  having  effected  any  life  assurance  for  the  benefit 
of  their  disconsolate  relatives. 

But  his  favorite  among  these  immortal  poems  is  that 
of  the  old  woman  —  doubtless  some  reputed  witch  of  the 
times  of  Chief  Justice  Hale  or  Cotton  Mather  —  who, 
being  tossed  with  her  broomstick  in  a  blanket,  '•  seventy 
times  as  high  as  the  moon,"  showed  how  a  brave  soul  can 
take  advantage  of  circumstances,  and  answered  the  hoot- 
ings  of  the  mob  by  a  prophetic  assurance  that  she  would 
"  sweep  the  cobwebs  out   of  the  sky." 

The  children  laugh  at  the  joke  and  heed  not  the  alle- 
gory ;  but  he  who  looks  thoughtfully  down  the  vista  of 
the  past  can  sec  how,  one  by  one,  the  idea."^  that  dark- 
ened the  mental  firmament  have  been  torn  away,  and  the 
closed  nooks,  where  dust  and  cobwebs  gather,  laid  open 
to  the  light  of  truth.  Yet,  alas  !  the  old  woman  sweeps 
slowly.     Heaven  speed  her  work  ! 


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